


Call My Name

by Mythril (fantacination)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Harassment, Humor, Keith can have nice things, Lance and Hunk finally get their cameo, M/M, Matt is best wingman, Meditation, Multi, Not Season 2 Compliant, Notice me Kouhai!, Original Character(s), Pining, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Pre-Kerberos Mission, Senpai-Kouhai Relationship, Shiro POV, Shiro definitely thinks so, Slow Burn, Training, calling it now, illegal hovercraft racing, pre-season 2 fic, shiro knits terribly, wow thats a tag now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7963561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantacination/pseuds/Mythril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro wants to get to know a certain new pilot. Keith wants nothing to do with this. </p><p>That's fine. Shiro always liked a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The shadows kept me hidden  
> From the light that calls my name  
> ~Crawling Towards the Sun, The Hush Sound
> 
> A/N: Obligatory fluffy Pre-Kerberos Sheith Fic. This blend now with more Notice me Kouhai!

 

In seventeen distinguished years of service-- and several more disgruntled ones tethered to a base full of brats- Colonel Cross had never seen anything like it.

 

The mock Mission Board showed the flight records for every student since the Garrison was established in 2516 and yet each and every record for the basic flight simulation missions had switched overnight..

 

The records for missions one through twelve had been replaced by an astonishing ID: 1GF89 - a first year student, from the ground forces program.

 

The flight records were a point of tradition and pride- a hurdle for their best students to pit themselves against and a lasting reminder to all trainees of the heights of pilot achievement.

 

There were twenty six missions in total, but most first years were only able to clear until mission six. Hell, there’d been a kid who’d nearly flunked the first mission and thrown up inside

 

In the space of one evening, some brat who wasn’t even in a pilot program had managed to cut the existing records by a good three to six seconds. Some of them had been beaten only a few months ago by far more experienced pilots.

 

“Who _is_ this kid?” Instructor Rex asked, frowning at the screen.

 

Cross bit into his cigar. “Get me the name, right now.”

 

“Keith Kogane,” Mira reported. “From the walk-in recruitment drive. He started two months ago. Grade A.”

 

So why now? “Is he a hacker?” he asked bluntly.

 

“He tested middling for engineering scores.”

 

“Any sign of other access or tampering?”

 

“Under investigation.”

 

“Any known connections to persons of interest?”

 

“None.”

 

“Look harder.”

 

A fresh face from the back raised a hand like he was still in class. “Sir, what if he’s the real deal?”

  
Cross looked at the scores. “Then he better be ready.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someday Shiro will find him. That day is not today. 
> 
> (They'll meet next chapter, promise.)

“Did you hear, Shiro?” Matt slapped Shiro’s shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve got competition.”

 

Shiro blinked, looking up from the planetary chart he was mapping for Professor Collin’s third year class “Competition for what?”

 

He’d been working on the wide work tables in the staff consultation room, a cup of long-cold coffee at his elbow. Matt and he were familiar enough fixtures that none of the staff had batted an eye when his friend barged in.

 

“For best pilot,” his engineer said, matter-of-fact. “His ID says he’s a first year, ground forces- can you believe it?”

 

“He’s not even a pilot trainee?” Shiro asked dubiously.

 

“Nope,” Matt said, clearly enjoying the fact. “Nobody knows where he came from. They're all arguing about who it is.”

 

“Maybe it’s just a prank. Did Katie sneak in again?” Shiro suggested, tapping his drafting pencil.

 

“Nope, mom took her to some kind of international math camp.”

 

“What about that guy who hacked into the sound system?”

 

“Nah, that guy’s in the engineering program.”

 

“Well I can think of a few people who’d be interested in faking some scores,” Shiro said. Two of them would’ve done it for the laughs. The other would’ve loved to see anything besides Shiro’s numbers up there.

 

“Yeah, but how many’d have the guts to fess up to Iverson afterwards?” Matt chuckled. It wasn’t really a question of ‘how’ than ‘when’ in a closed environment like the Garrison. Matt had a fair point. And probably a reason why he was bringing this up now.

 

“Hmm,” Shiro stalled.

 

“Is that really all you’ve got to say? This is the first big news since they sent you out on the Venus missions and some guy commandeered the commissary for the celebration.”

 

“I’m interested,” Shiro clarified. “Maybe not as much as you are, Gossip King.”

 

“This right here is intelligence, Captain Shirogane, I’ll have you know. Where would we be if we didn’t pay attention to rising star pilots? Definitely not with two successful missions under our belt.” Matt leaned on the back of his chair.

 

“I see how it is, you just want to replace me.” Shiro cocked a brow.

 

“Well Shiro, my man, it’s hard to get any attention when you’re around, but next to some fresh new kid, I’ll look appropriately suave and debonair,” Matt teased.

 

Shiro laughed. Matt had had far more girlfriends in the time he’d known him than Shiro’s lifetime total. 

 

But he could at least check out who was making so much noise.

 

As it so happened, he did have access privileges for the simulators- a small gift from an old instructor- and they’d never changed the passcodes.

 

At this time of the night, the simulators were off-limits to all but the most senior students, so he went down to check it out.

 

A couple of the other simulators were clearly occupied, but the third had been cordoned off- presumably the one that the rookie had used. He quietly slipped inside.

 

The machine booted up correctly, the musty inside of the ship worn down from generations of students. There were a couple of recent installations since he was last in the student simulator, but even those had the faded look of hard use.

 

A quick check of the logs showed that everything was in order. With nothing else amiss, Shiro sat down on the creaky, cracked pilot’s seat, smiling, just a bit, for the nostalgia of it. Then, he started to look over the controls.

 

His finger hovered over the playback button, a feature that was on by default to allow instructors to show and trainees to review their mistakes.

 

He pressed play.

 

The view screen opened up to the usual mission to get from the Artemis station to Apollo-7, prompting the student to navigate five modest, slow-moving satellites in the way.

 

There was a few beats of no input- and then, suddenly, it became apparent what was happening. The pilot was familiarizing himself with the cockpit and the mission.

 

Without warnin, the controls lit up and the craft immediately dived like it was on a rollercoaster. Shiro gripped the armrests instinctively as the view twisted, narrowly avoiding crashing into the station and leveled off at top speed. He pulled back a little slow on the first curve, but every one after it was done with flawless, reckless precision, cutting out two of the obstacles entirely.

 

The simulation ended with two seconds shaved off Shiro’s personal best.

 

Shiro stared at it, then played the next one, and the next. Reckless, yes. Incredibly ill-advised, and yet--

 

Absolutely inspired.

 

This pilot had never learned how to fly from any rule book- he’d never gotten remotely close to the textbook maneuvers every beginning pilot learned by heart. He didn’t do any of the safety checks and he didn’t care about the recommended most efficient flight paths- but the raw skill- the primitive elegance of his flying, nothing but skill and reflex, very quietly took Shiro’s breath away.

 

It was like watching a hawk take flight, a natural born predator on wings.

 

It was like being back in his first year, seeing the mission for the first time. Instead of a script, he saw possibilities.

 

And then, in the silence of the chamber, the last recording played back a soft, breathy exhale. Low, but young. “Satisfied?” He challenged.

 

Not at all, Shiro thought. Because the first thing he was doing tomorrow was to find the owner of that voice.

 

===

 

“So his name is Keith Kogane, huh?” Matt observed, peering over Shiro’s shoulder.

 

“Matt!” Shiro yelped, just barely refraining from switching tabs like a guilty teenager looking at porn.

 

“What?” Matt raised an eyebrow. It reminded Shiro of Professor Holt’s face when a student was VMing in class.

 

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Shiro sighed. “Yeah, I was just checking.”

 

The rumors had finally come to a head this morning when one of the first year students was taken from the ground track and jettisoned up the pilot ranks- launched into the upper echelons of fighter pilots.

 

The other fighter pilots weren’t exactly pleased.

 

Shiro heard Josh and Sean, a year below him, grumbling darkly as they exited the gym.

 

“Doesn’t he have a picture?” Matt pressed.

 

“He should,” Shiro admitted, browsing to the directory.

 

A small, plain 2x2 ID photo popped up.

 

It showed a surprisingly delicate face, a fierce scowl belying large, extraordinarily indigo eyes. Nearly violet, really. Dark hair fell in a silken mess around his face and ears, curling at an ivory nape.

 

“Pretty,” Matt whistled. “Except for that scowl. A face like that is just asking for trouble. Reminds me of when you were still pretty, Shiro!”

 

Shiro made a face at him. “I don’t think i was ever that pretty.”

 

Matt laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Well, I can see why everyone’s kicked up a fuss about him, though. He looks like a troublemaker. Must be gutsy, if the story’s true.”

 

Shiro shook his head, a low, half-breathless voice in his mind. “Maybe. I kind of think there’s more to the story than that.”

 

And yet, he couldn’t find out more.

 

The rumor mill had all kinds of things to say- most of it unflattering. But nothing on why some kid fresh off the street would suddenly try to become a fighter pilot.

 

It would be best to get the information directly- if he could just find the kid.

 

===

 

“Stalking, Shiro, that’s what it’s called,” Matt declared over lunch after trying to get Shiro’s attention for the fourth time in so many minutes. He pointed his loaded fork in Shiro’s direction, cheese sauce dripping.

 

“No, it isn’t,” Shiro protested automatically. It wasn’t that he was-- doing anything untoward. Not like he was stealing any of the kid’s things or- or following him around.

 

He was just looking to see if he happened to be around. And he just happened to be in the area. A lot.

 

To his disappointment, Keith didn’t seem to like going to the common areas that first years and upperclassmen alike flocked to.

 

He didn’t seem to like going to the town either- whenever he wasn’t in class or a simulator, it was like Keith vanished, ceasing to exist.

 

A myth built on racked up pilot scores.

 

But he had to exist and lunch seemed like a good bet- the food from the commissary wasn’t great, but it wasn’t too bad, either. Plenty of recruits went there to eat.

 

“You haven’t eaten down here in years, Shirogane. And suddenly you invite me to grab a mystery pizza?”

 

“You love mystery pizza.” Shiro poked at the unsightly sludge on top of his with a fork. Any moment now, and it might come to life. He figured that was what appealed to Matt, anyway.

 

“Not the point, you always told me you were busy.”

 

“Well, I was,” Shiro said a bit defensively.

 

“But the point is here you are, braving the depths of hormonal space jockey hell to stalk your eternal rival.”

 

“It's not like that, Matt, it was only a matter of time before someone better than me came along. I just want to know why he flies the way he does. Imagine if one day you just--”

 

Before he could start to tell Matt more about why he felt so invested, they were interrupted.

 

“H-hello! Can we sit next to you?” A group of first years asked shyly, pushing the leader, a girl with short blonde hair, forward.

 

Matt glanced at Shiro. Shiro himself was abruptly reminded why he’d stopped coming here to eat.

 

It wasn’t too bad in his first two years- friendly, even. But by the time he hit third year and got his first actual flight under his belt, people had started acting-- strangely.

 

Little things, like fighting over who got to sit at the same table he was in or excited chatter about whatever he might mention.

 

It was… disconcerting. He appreciated the attention, but he felt oddly out of the conversation. Not a part of it as much as its subject.

 

When he realized he’d become some sort of social status symbol and that some of his seat mates were keeping other kids from him, he’d stopped going. He took his meals alone in his room or whatever workshop or office he was helping with.

 

If anything, though, that seemed to make him more popular instead of less.

 

He glanced warily at the group. “Sorry, we were just finishing up over some coffee. You guys can have this table, there's a lot more of you than us,” he smiled.

 

The girl flushed. “N-no, you can stay! We don't mind!”

 

Matt was already carrying his tray, ever the perfect wingman, so Shiro smiled and followed him.

 

“It's a shame. The girls are getting cuter every year,” Matt said, depositing his tray as Shiro caught up. “But still not cute enough for their dream boy,” he teased.

 

“Shut up, Matt.”

 

“It's been ages since you broke up with Carol, maybe you should find someone else, just saying. I mean at this rate, who knows if you'll get sent out on some deep space mission and you never get back? You'll be sorry you didn't enjoy yourself then!”

 

“Sure, a deep space mission to collect rocks on a moon- I could die of boredom before we make it back,” Shiro teased back. There were rumors of a mission to Kerberos and he knew as well as anyone that Matt and his father would be the perfect scientist pair to lead it. The pilot could be him, but there was plenty of time before the budget for it was approved and anything actually materialized.

 

That left him plenty of time for his work and some extra for a hunt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith, Shiro finds, is different from what he expects. Also:cute. In the ways he didn't expect, either.

When Shiro had been ten, on his way back from school, he had heard mewling from a dirty brown sack by the road. 

 

Further investigation had revealed a bedraggled little scrap of a kitten, blue-eyed with tufty black fur, sable from nose to rump. Her left paw was shorter than the other. It was likely that which had separated her from her littermates.  

 

She was so light you could feel nothing but the dent of tiny feet and downy fur. 

 

He’d loved her instantly.

 

The kitten, unfortunately, hadn’t liked him nearly as much, tiny milk teeth claws pricking at Shiro’s skin when he tried to hold it, meowing disagreement.  

 

He’d made a bed with an old sofa cushion, some towels, and a covered lightbulb his grandfather helped him wire into a battery for warmth. She’d regarded them from the hooded cover of the towels with extreme prejudice, swiping at any hand that dared come too close. 

 

Shiro had slowly gathered a small collection of angry claw marks. 

 

But that hadn’t mattered to him. He’d been content to watch her fluff and hiss, all wobbly struts and pounces around the kitchen. Inevitably, she had flopped back on her rump, off-balance from her gimped paw.

 

By the time she’d been a few weeks old, she’d made it to the chair and promptly launched herself into the table. Her face had bounced off, for her trouble, but that hadn’t exactly stopped her. 

 

It was one of Shiro’s favorite childhood memories.

 

He liked to think it taught him the power of determination and the reward that came after long hours of perseverance. Both were things that you needed a lot of, if you planned on being an astronaut. 

 

It was a solid foundation and leant itself well to patience- something he tried to stockpile vaguely against hard times.

 

Matt once told him he had the soul of an old man, but Matt also got excited about chunks of gray rocks. 

 

What it meant was that given a task, he could apply himself steadily and ceaselessly. 

 

And right now, that task was finding a certain rookie pilot. 

 

At least, it was when he wasn’t in his own classes, helping out with lessons, training, or being dragged into laboratory tests with Matt and his club ( _ “It’s the society for applied astrophysics and extraterrestrial exploration!”)  _

 

Work piled up, but when he had a spare minute, he’d shrug his jacket on and search.

 

The recreation room, bustling and loud with students unwinding after a long day, proved just as fruitless as the others. The gym had been promising, but he’d gotten nothing apart from a few genial, slightly sweaty claps on the back. 

 

He was starting to wonder if he was approaching this the wrong way. 

 

When he finally saw Keith, it was almost entirely by accident. 

 

Shiro had been looking down absently from one of the upper corridors, only to see a tousled dark haired figure sitting in the abandoned nook of the courtyard.

 

It took him a few moments to figure out what he was looking at, to recognize a profile he had only seen in front view.

 

Once he did, he all but ran down the stairs, hoping that Keith was still there when he arrived.

 

He was. 

 

Shiro approached carefully, slowing his steps to a whisper against the pavement. He felt like he was about to come across something strange and a little bit mystical. What if he had gotten it wrong? Maybe there was more than one cadet with that kind of hair. 

 

“I can still hear you,” the cadet snapped, turning towards Shiro with a cant of his shoulder.  On his jaw was a dark shadow. Like the knuckles of a fist.

 

And. Oh.

 

Small, lithe frame, tapered neck, skin that bruised like a peach.

 

Completely at odds with the fierce, slashing glare and the hard turn of his frown 

 

“What are you staring at?” Keith asked, hostile.

 

Who punched you, Shiro didn't ask, tucking his clenched hands into his pockets.

 

“Nothing. You’re Just shorter than I thought you'd be,” Shiro said, mouth curling in a wry grin. “I was kind of expecting someone bigger.”

 

Keith's hackles rose.

 

Shiro---

 

Shiro  wanted to take him home.

 

Instead, he offered his unclenched hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll grow into it. I’m Shiro. I was impressed when I saw your flight times.” 

 

“You’re a... senior?” Keith asked dubiously, eyes lingering over his uniform, trying to glean some information from it. He obviously didn't think much of what he did get. He ignored the hand. 

 

Shiro blinked. A thrill not unlike a new leaf uncurled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time someone hadn’t recognized him. By face or name. 

 

“Something like that.  I’m still finishing my training and practicum.” He was a little behind from missions work. 

 

He waited expectantly. His grandmother had once said he could outwait an oak. When he realized Keith had no intention of introducing himself, he prompted. “You do have a name, right?” 

 

“....I’m Keith.”  Keith said reluctantly after the long pause. Like he expected Shiro to use it against him. “You knew that,” he added, suspiciously. 

 

Shiro smiled because that always seemed to distract people. “Are you hungry? I was going to go for lunch.” 

 

Keith’s face closed off. “I’ll pass.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

Keith sent him an annoyed glance.“The cafeteria’s a pain.” 

 

“There’s more than one cafeteria around. The ones the instructors use isn’t too far. They let cadets grab a bite there, too, if they behave.” 

 

Keith didn’t look sold on the idea. 

 

“How about I grab us both some sandwiches and meet up with you here?” 

 

“I don’t care what you do.” 

 

Keith couldn’t have made his disinterest more obvious if he’d turned away and curled his tail at his feet. 

 

Small steps, Shiro reminded himself. 

 

He came back, a little breathless. He’d run the whole way.  Armed with two ham and rye sandwiches and two small cups of fruit, he held one out to Keith.

 

When it wasn’t accepted, Shiro set it down on the bench between them, instead.

 

Keith stared at the sandwich, not making any move to take it.

 

Shiro unwrapped his own and took a bite. It was an uncomplicated flavor, sweet ham and mild mustard. 

 

“What’s your deal?” Keith asked, after a pause. “Haven’t you gawked enough?”

 

Shiro chewed his bite of sandwich, thinking about his reply. “I just want to know more about you.” 

 

_ “Why? _ ” Keith asked again, honestly baffled. 

 

“Do I need a reason?” Shiro considered. He wasn’t entirely sure, either. Not yet. But he was starting to feel like he could make out its shape. And every word, barbed or not, just made Shiro want to know more. 

 

“I just think you’re interesting.” 

 

Keith frowned at him. “You’re weird.” 

 

Shiro laughed at that. “Yeah, maybe a little bit. I also saw your simulation logs and I think you could use a little polish. You’ve still got a ways to go,” he teased, smiling to take the sting out. 

 

Keith searched him carefully, looking for any hint of malice. “I’m not here to break records.” 

 

“But you do,” Shiro pointed out.

 

Keith looked at the sandwich. “I do.” 

 

It was so matter-of-fact it bled into arrogance. Short as he was, it was Napoleon in a mullet. But Keith didn't look pleased. He was simply dictating truth.

 

In the end, Keith didn't talk much. He bristled at the idea of the clinic, and he didn't eat the sandwich. At least, not in Shiro’s presence. He'd regarded Shiro as distrustfully as a feral cat. But he hadn't left the food behind, either, taking it with him before he slunk away into whatever pocket dimension he existed in between classes.

 

He wondered how Keith had gotten so good at that. 

 

He wondered why he might have had to learn how. 

 

One thing was for sure, though, getting to know his quarry had paid off. 

 

Before he’d met Keith, he’d assumed he’d be just like any first year cadet, drawn to crowds and cheer, high on being admitted into the Garrison and the company of their classmates. 

 

Now, he sought out the abandoned places, occupied only by chill winds in the odd hours. The corner between the track and the library, when everybody else was having breakfast. The shaded catwalk over the courtyard when athletic activities began. The observatory rooftop, at dusk. 

 

His success rate increased  _ exponentially _ .

 

The first few times he caught Keith after their little chat, the first year very deliberately caught his eye and left, taking his bag and a battered palmtop with him. 

 

The next, Keith was already dropping off his perch, shed jacket trailing in the air from one hand like a banner. 

 

He got more careful after that and Shiro got asked to do a little extra coursework. 

 

But at the rooftop, nearly a week after he’d seen him last, he’d obviously caught Keith by surprise. 

 

The wind up here was brisk, tossing dark hair and tugging at their uniforms. Above them, the stars were starting to peek out, just, not a cloud in sight. 

 

Keith’s wide eyes reformed into a furrowed brow. “What do you  _ want _ ?” 

 

“To hang out. Like friends do.”

 

“We’re not friends.” 

 

“Sure we are. That sandwich came with a contract.” 

 

Keith looked mildly horrified and a little bit betrayed. 

 

It was the first honest expression Shiro had seen on his face. 

 

He bit his lip not to laugh. He walked to the edge of the roof, looking out at the endless roll of hot desert sand that sprawled from the Garrison’s perimeter. A wide rail kept people from falling to a messy death, but otherwise there was nothing between you and the sky. Out in the desert, the night sky was spectacular.

 

“I was joking,” Shiro clarified into the sulky silence. 

 

“You’re bad at it,” Keith scoffed, but he didn’t run. He was sitting on the edge, one leg dangling off under the rail. The other curled underneath him, like he was poised. To leap into the air or disappear. 

 

Shiro sat, barely two feet away, close enough to reach out an arm if he liked, and watched the stars come out.  

 

He named them as he found them. He spotted Polaris first, at the tip of Ursa Minor, his gaze meandering down over Draco. He was tracing the line that connected Altair to the rest of Aquila when Keith breaks the silence. 

 

“I thought you already gave up,” Keith said quietly, so many minutes later that the dusk had settled into true night. 

 

“I don’t give up easy.” 

 

He turned to look at Keith, cautiously. He looked tired. Pale-skinned in a desert. He didn’t have any new visible bruises, but he was wearing his uniform fully buttoned. 

 

Because of the chill? Or something else? 

 

“You should. Give up, I mean,” Keith told him with a narrow-eyed glance. “Don’t you have other people to hang out with? Friends?” The word rolled off his tongue like a muted curse. His shoulders canted up the littlest bit. A little more and he’d be curled, his shadow a muddied tail. 

 

“We’re friends.” 

 

Keith’s eyes snapped to him. “That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t even  _ know _ you.” 

 

“That’s what friends do. Get to know each other.” 

 

Keith gave him a look that very clearly informed him he was stupid. 

 

Shiro smiled back. “I can see why you like it up here, though. Quiet. Not a lot of people around.” 

 

“Except you.” 

 

“Except me,” Shiro agreed. 

 

“But you know, I kind of like it, too,” he added. 

 

There were plenty of students on the science track or taking science credits who broke down the galaxy into mathematics. Amazing mathematics, translated into simulations, time, and tanks of fuel. 

 

But Shiro had always liked seeing the stars from here, best. 

 

“I used to sneak up here after lights out- the stars are brighter that way.” 

 

“You like them that much?” Keith asked, a hesitant offering. 

 

“Well. I  _ am _ a pilot.” He grinned. “I’ve even been out there. The view’s similar, but it’s not the same. You’re surrounded. Everything is so far, but close. Like you can touch anything even when you know it’s light years away.”

 

“It’s quiet. It’s like you’re the only thought in the universe and like you’re part of it. From the other side of the galaxy, everything around you is just a star.” 

 

“Somewhere out there, someone might be looking back at you, seeing you shine.” 

 

“That sounds nice,” Keith said, achingly quiet.

 

And something clicked into place. Like finding the answer at the end of a mathematical proof. 

 

“It does. It’s true, too. You’ll understand when you get out there.” 

 

Keith snorted at that. “ _ If _ I get up there.” 

 

“Sure you will. You’ve got talent in spades or Iverson wouldn’t have bothered dragging you into the pilot program. And right here at the Garrison? Talent will take you pretty damn far. They want the best they can get. And they know there’s a pretty good chance that’s you.” 

 

Keith shifted. “If you’re a pilot, how come you want me to be one, then? Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your spot?” 

 

“Maybe you will. But I’d rather have competition than be alone.” It was lonely at the top. Lonelier still, in space. Not everything was meant for a single pilot to pioneer, forging into the unknown. Earth was getting ready for the last frontier- and it had never been meant to be a job for one.

 

It wasn’t time to let him know, but Keith didn’t know how long Shiro had been waiting for someone like him. Shiro hadn’t known, either, until at the end of a rumor, he’d found Keith. 

 

====

 

Hours later, when the Garrison started to dim for lights out, Shiro shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Keith’s lap. “That’ll help hide all that orange and white for a bit.” He was pretty sure whoever had designed the uniforms fully intended for enterprising young first years to be caught if they were anywhere they shouldn’t be. 

 

Keith blinked at it slowly. Shiro grinned. “Maybe get some rest. You do have a dorm room, right?’ 

 

“Yeah,” Keith confirmed, so disarmed he hadn’t mustered up his usual venom. 

  
Shiro knew when to make a graceful exit. “I’ll see you, then.” He headed downstairs before Keith could make any protests. 


	4. Chapter 4

Lending Keith his jacket turned out to be one of the better decisions he’d made in a while.

 

When Shiro walked in to breakfast at the staff cafeteria, Keith was sitting at a faraway booth.  He looked uncomfortable, holding a familiar, folded jacket. He was a stiff, bright orange spot against the neutral grays.

 

When he spotted Shiro, he got up and stalked over, pushing the bundle into Shiro’s arms. “Don’t go giving away your clothes, dumbass.”

 

“Did you get some good sleep in?” Shiro asked sweetly in return. Keith looked like he might have. The tension running through him now didn’t seem as bad as it was last night. He wondered what Keith looked like, asleep. Did he curl up on his bed, too?

 

Keith eyed him. “Not as good as yours,” he decided.

 

Shiro laughed at that. “I’ve always been a morning person.” It was a routine he’d started in seventh grade. He woke up when the sun did to do a bit light exercise before breakfast. Matt had thought morning people were a myth before they’d met.

 

But Keith, it seemed, was something of one, himself. His hair looked messy like usual, but his eyes were alert and steady. He looked like he might’ve washed his face recently.

 

“Got any plans for today?”

 

“Class,” Keith said drily.

 

“What are you doing in class?” Shiro prompted.

 

A shrug. “Studying.” A pause. “I think there’s gym today.”

 

“You were ground forces, gym will be a moonwalk.”

 

“That’s not the hard part,” Keith said cryptically.

 

“Well,” Shiro began, not one to waste an opportunity. “If there’s anything you’re having trouble with, why don’t you join me at the old gym tonight?” The old gym had rapidly declined in popularity when the new one was built closer to the middle of the grounds.

 

Keith shrugged as he left. “Maybe.”

 

It wasn’t a ‘no’.

 

Shiro walked with a bounce in his step all the way to class.

 

“Someone had a good morning,” Matt observed. He was draped on his desk like a languishing piece of bespectacled statuary. A tumbler filled with an unholy blend of coffee and energy drinks was clenched in one hand. He called it ‘rocket fuel’. His father called it ‘an early death’.

 

“Mm, really good.”

 

“Let me guess,” Matt said, ticking fingers on his spare hand. “Protein shakes half off? New history book out? Which is a misnomer, by the way, how can history be new?” He digressed.

 

“Or is it your current number one favorite thing-- a Keith sighting? He’s like a UFO or a UMA or something, maybe he’ll beam you up, one of these days.”

 

“Better,” Shiro declared, sliding into the bench behind the shared desk. “He’s meeting me at the gym tonight.”

 

Matt dropped his tumbler.

 

Shiro caught it.

 

“You’re kidding,” he said, brows so high they disappeared under his fringe. “You mean you actually caught him?”

 

“Well. I guess it’s more like-- an open invitation? It’s not like I was going to tie him up and drag him somewhere.”

 

Matt whistled. “Kinky, Shirogane, not that I needed to know. No, wait, tell me more. I need more blackmail material.”

 

“ _Matt_.”

 

“You’re too easy. So what’s he actually like? Is he worth all the hype?”

 

“Quiet,” Shiro said, setting the tumbler down in front of Matt where he wasn’t liable to knock it off with his elbow.

 

“Sharp tongue and a rusty sense of humor.”

 

“So talking to him is like getting shanked by a rusty machete in the dead of night?”

 

“No! I mean-- he’s-- He’s not what I expected. You know our usual fly boys- loud and cocky.”

 

“Hmm, yeah, you should work on that loud thing-- yeah, yeah, I’m listening, stop making that face.”

 

Shiro waited a beat, just to be sure Matt had it out of his system. “What I mean is, he’s- sharp. But it’s not bad, on him. Like it’s-- well, like it’s like one of those potted cacti you keep? He only just decided to give me the time of day, so I can’t really say more than that.”  

 

Matt looked skeptical, but he was interrupted by the instructor entering the lecture hall. She was carrying two large canisters that instantly had Matt’s rapt attention.

 

“If you say so.”

 

He’d thought Matt would leave it at that. He probably would have, if he hadn’t also decided to come by Shiro’s room later that day.

 

“Hey, Shiro, I---” Matt stopped at the half-open door, knob clutched in one hand.

 

Shiro, half-dressed, froze.

 

“Whoa. What happened to your room?” Shiro’s room was usually a place of precise military neatness.

 

Right now, it could use a little picking up.

 

Three different shirts lay tangled at the foot of the bed. A discarded pair of jogging pants flopped across the bedspread. A tennis shoe was overturned next to the dresser, missing its pair.

 

And Shiro was. Well. He pulled the cloth down over his chest, stretching the fabric flat.

 

“Is this what I think it is?” Matt asked faintly.

 

“What do you think it is?” Shiro asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

 

“It is! I can't believe it. You, Takashi “button all the way up” Shirogane, primping!” Matt snorted, pretending to faint against the door

 

Shiro plucked at his tank top nervously. “Too much?” He was showing a bit… more skin than usual. He was planning on working out. Just maybe not in the ratty, worn-thin workout clothes he usually used. His favorite shirt was now a shade of off-white that meandered into a dishwater gray, that much was fact.

 

What he had on now was a fitted ribbed black top that showed most of his clavicles and his biceps to advantage. He had to keep himself in good physical condition, but he did feel a some pride in how many push ups he could do before he ran out of breath.

 

He checked his hair in the mirror, combing his forelock back and watching it flop back onto his brow. Should he slick it back? No, it’d just flop back, stickier.

 

When he glanced at the door, Matt looked upon him with an expression of fond and malignant glee.

 

“You're dressing up. For gym. I can't believe it, he isn't your eternal rival, he's your crush. Oh my god, he's your little itsy bitsy baby crush!”

 

“It’s not a crush! And he's eighteen,” Shiro tried not to sound defensive.

 

“He's also like, a foot shorter than you and half as wide. You can carry him in your pocket,” Matt cackled. ”It’s okay, Shiro, my man, I knew I was bound to find your fatal flaw one day. I mean, I thought it was going to be some creepy portrait in an attic, but this is much better!”

 

“Matt,” Shiro groaned. “Why are you even here?”

 

“Making sure you're not corrupting our youth, apparently! And returning your laptop. It was a big help.”

 

“Thanks,” Shiro said pointedly, taking the laptop and placing it on the bed.

 

“You should wear your booty shorts,” Matt suggested helpfully, making no move to get out of Shiro’s room.

 

“They’re not booty shorts,” Shiro said halfheartedly. “They’re cycling shorts.”

 

“And the nice cologne.”

 

===

 

Shiro had planned to arrive fifteen minutes early. He just barely made it on time, at a jog. He wished he could lay the blame squarely on Matt, but he really should’ve kept better track of the time.

 

Keith seemed a little… shocked to see him.

 

Shiro was tentatively pleased about that- up until Keith also said: “I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

 

Well.

 

“Of course I would, I suggested it, right?” Shiro frowned.

 

Keith looked away. “I guess. I don’t really need help, though.” He was sitting on a beaten-up gymnastics horse, the one with the leather so old it had started to crack and flake.His bag dangled between his legs, tail-like.

 

“Did you want to just do a little sparring, then?”

 

Keith flinched. It was a small thing, a tick that made his shoulders hitch. “No.”

 

Shiro didn’t push it. “I can spot you while you do your reps if you like,” he offered.

 

“Spot?”

 

“You know-- help check out your form, see if you’re in any danger of pulling a muscle.” He looked at Keith, still in uniform.

 

“Let’s change.”

 

“You’re already changed,” Keith pointed out.

 

“I’ve got spare pants.”  He’d brought the damned shorts.

 

Keith looked him over and Shiro tried not to look as tense as he felt.

 

“You look fit.”

 

Shiro chuckled a bit nervously. “I’d hope so.”

 

Keith’s eyes lingered on his chest. Then, he looked away with a click of his tongue. “What do they even feed you?”

 

“Good food,” Shiro replied promptly. “I could help you build a meal plan, if you wanted?”

 

Keith dropped from the horse, bag slung over a shoulder. “It wouldn’t suit me,” he said, walking off.

 

At the lockers, Shiro resigned himself to having to change into the shorts. They were practical, that was why he owned them. He just didn’t usually wear them in company whose opinion he might care about.

 

Keith was stripping without any of the same compunctions. He unbuttoned his jacket first, folding it a little too quickly to be neat. Without the uniform, it was more readily apparent how thin he was. Despite it, there was a fragile strength to him. Like steel wire.

 

Shiro discreetly took in the graceful arch his back formed from nape to waist. Then, something brought him up short. There was a bruise all along his side, like he’d fallen or been hit with something sizeable.

 

“Rough class at gym?”

 

Keith quickly pulled a standard issue black t-shirt on. “Rowdy class.”

 

“I bet.” It wasn’t unusual for cadets to be… overenthusiastic. Especially when the instructors weren’t looking. Keith acted like it didn’t hurt; like he’d forgotten about it. But something of that size didn’t go unnoticed.

 

Shiro dug into his duffle bag and unearthed a tin of salve.

 

“Here put some of this on.” He offered the thin metal jar to Keith.

 

Keith took it reluctantly. That he took it at all was a win in Shiro’s book.

 

He watched Keith dip two fingers into the salve and put it on gingerly. Shiro tried to see if there were any other unusual bruises. It didn’t seem like it.

 

If Shiro craned his neck just a little, he thought he could see the bruise go all the way down Keith’s hip to his thigh.

 

“Stop staring,” Keith glared. He looked like he wanted to say more, but visibly held it back. He had a feeling Keith wasn’t used to doing that.

 

“I was just wondering if you needed help,” Shiro said, and regretted it. It came out sounding-- flirtatious.

 

And this wasn’t about that.

 

Because Keith was cute. But Keith was beautiful in flight. He had no idea if Keith even liked guys or if he liked anything besides being left alone. And he was-- hurt. Shiro couldn’t leave him alone. He knew himself well enough to admit that.

 

Shiro wanted to see him fly more than he wanted to date him. He wanted to see him fly for a long time to come. And, if possible, he’d like to be right beside him.

 

“I don’t need help. I never do.” Keith twisted the jar of salve closed and handed it back to Shiro neatly, pinched between his fingertips.

 

Shiro took the hint and placed it back in his bag, careful not to touch Keith’s fingers. “Sorry about that, it was-- out of line. I just want to get to know you because I think we’re a lot more alike than you might think.”

 

Keith threw Shiro an incredulous look, letting his gaze run pointedly over Shiro from top to bottom. “Whatever.” He turned to walk out the door. “You planning on changing into those shorts? Or did you bring someone else’s?” He eyed the scrap of fabric, obviously feeling that they weren’t Shiro’s size.

 

Shiro flushed and changed hurriedly. Keith watched him as he did and Shiro said nothing when the freshman snorted at how little the material actually covered.

 

Out on the gym floor, they started out with some stretches and a light workout on the hovermill.

 

“So what do you usually do? You have good musculature for someone your size,” Shiro commented.

 

Keith frowned a bit. “Not much. I run and I lift.”

 

“How many kilos?”

 

“My max is about 60.”

 

Shiro whistled. That was good for Keith’s size.

 

“Show me and then we can go through some exercises that might help if you need more.”

 

All in all, Keith was in very good shape. Shiro guided him through some squats and chinups, doing a variation of his own routine when Keith got the hang of it.

 

Keith, as it turned out, learned fast and pursued exercise drills with a single-minded intensity that was really rather inspiring. His brow was creased into a scowl, his breaths controlled to near silence even though he was sweating enough to stick his hair to his neck, arms straining to do just one more chinup.

 

“Don’t wear yourself out, rest is important. And what you had for dinner,” Shiro added.

 

“Yes, housemother,” Keith muttered.

 

Shiro paused at that. There were no housemothers for the Garrison dorms.

 

He wasn’t sure he could ask. Maybe he didn’t really need to.

 

===

 

“How do you help someone who refuses help?” Shiro asked Matt one afternoon, tapping his pen.

 

“Subtly,” Matt said. “Unless they’re just faking it.”

 

They were at the Holt’s lab, Professor Holt going over some personal experiments with his son’s help while Shiro-- well, lifted things they pointed at and tried to edit a hardcopy of a thesis.  

 

“Is this about your crush?”

 

“You’ve got a crush, Shiro?” Professor Holt asked, smelling gossip. Honestly ,the whole family loved getting new information. Any kind of new information.

 

“I don’t. Definitely not. And it’s not like that. I’m asking… for a mentee.”

 

Matt wasn’t buying it. “He turned you down?”

 

“No, I mean-- I didn’t actually ask, but I might have...accidentally hit on him?”

 

“Hold on, who _are_ we talking about?” Professor Holt leaned in.

 

“Keith Kogane- that new ace pilot. Mullet-cut?” Matt casually brought up the ID photo on Shiro’s phone. Shiro hadn’t realized he even still had that.

 

“Oh, hmm, I don’t really deal with the first years,” the professor mused. “So this is the kind of boy that’ll catch Shiro’s eye, eh?”

 

“It’s really not a crush-thing,” Shiro tried to reiterate.

 

Matt waved a hand at him over his research notes. “Right, right, so you hit on him-- man, your game must be so rusty it’s gone bad, Shiro, didn’t think anything with a heartbeat would say no.”

 

“Help. I need help on helping him,” Shiro said firmly. “In a way that doesn’t make him think I’m a creep trying to get into his pants.”

 

“Well, are you actually doing anything _wrong_?” Matt asked. “Maybe he’s just skittish.”

 

“I don’t know. I’m just-- trying not to get into his personal space too much. He definitely got… wary after the come-on thing.”

 

“Well is he still meeting up with you? You guys are meeting up at the old gym, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Shiro admitted. They met a few times a week, going on a month now. Keith turned up or he didn’t. Shiro tried to give him a little more space, keeping himself from seeking him out like he had before.

 

“Great, so he probably didn’t take it personally. If you want to help him, you just have to give him what he needs before he needs it and wait for him to come to you. Maybe do that sexy teacher thing you do with the reading glasses and the button down since the hot jock look didn’t work out for you.”

 

Professor Holt coughed.

 

Shiro suspected he was laughing. 

 

“Hey, you have a spare flash drive?” Matt asked, suddenly.

 

“In my bag,” Shiro gestured.

 

Matt picked it up to get the zip open. “Oof, man, your bag is heavy, what have you got in here?”

 

“A few things.”

 

Matt popped the top flap open to look for the pen drive. “...Why are you carrying water, a first aid kit, and a tin of efficascent? Feeling clumsy?”

 

Shiro looked down. “Yeah. Just in case, you know?”

 

===

 

The truth was something he wasn’t sure he could bring up in Professor Holt’s presence yet. He was a good man and an academic. He doubtless would have launched some kind of formal investigation. The Garrison had a tendency to overlook _some_ student infighting, so long as nobody brought up a formal complaint and it was discreet.

 

But all parties were usually discharged-- or suspended-- if anything untoward happened. It’d be a disciplinary black mark and cadets had been passed over for promotion for that kind of thing.

 

If it wasn’t fighting… it could turn messy depending on who was involved. Either situation wasn’t any good.

 

Keith hadn’t had any large bruises or cuts since the first time, but Shiro had taken to bringing dinner to their meetings, as another precaution.

 

Today, however, Keith didn’t want dinner.

 

He came to the gym steaming mad, a flush high on his cheeks as he stormed past the doors.

 

“Fight me,” he demanded from Shiro, walking up to him and pulling up a fistful of Shiro’s shirt.

 

“What?”

 

“Spar,” Keith clarified.

 

“Okay,” Shiro said slowly, following him out onto the mats.

 

Keith fought like he flew, instinctively, movements quicksilver. He was flexible and adapted to any situation, recovering fast. He was a cresting wave of passionate and tireless attack.

 

It was really a shame that against Shiro, it would never be enough.

 

“How are you doing this?” Keith asked, confused as Shiro dodged a flurry of quick punches, barely having to move more than a half step in either direction.

 

“Practice.” Shiro tapped Keith’s open side with the flat of a palm, but Keith didn’t react, the initial edge of his anger wearing off.  

 

“It helps that you’re wide open and pretty predictable. You’re angry. That means you’re not using your head because you’re too busy thinking about landing a punch. That’ll never work with anyone who can keep their cool.”

 

“Tt,” Keith tsked. “Like you can slow down in a fight.”

 

“No, but patience yields focus. The more focused you are, the better you’ll be at whatever you’re doing-- whether it’s fighting-- or anything else. I know you’ve got a brain in there- your exam results came out pretty good, so where is it?”

 

Keith sulked, folding his arms. “I’ve always been this way. It works.”

 

“Until it doesn’t. Big world out there. Bigger in space. You need to learn how to keep your cool,” Shiro said.

 

“How do _you_ do it, then?”

 

Shiro blinked, tilting his head a bit. And well… why not?

 

“You sure you want to learn it my way?”

 

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “If it works.”

 

Shiro grinned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...wound up having to split this chapter, it was getting too long. :')
> 
> Next up: Shiro gets Keith in his room.
> 
> It may take longer as irl will be very very busy for me for the new couple of weeks!
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's room is everything and nothing like it seems. Much like the man himself.

Keith stared blankly at the box in Shiro’s hands. Five or six orange-sized balls of yarn filled the gray box to overflowing. Two were tied together and worked into two large plain wooden needles. Small, finished projects were tucked around the yarn, nestling them like brightly-colored eggs.

 

“You knit.” 

 

“My grandmother’s a big fan,” Shiro said blandly.

 

“You’re terrible at it,” Keith pointed out holding up Shiro’s latest piece-- he wasn’t sure what it was either, but the end result looked like it could make a good coaster or a dishrag. He had ten such ‘coasters’ already. 

 

“I don’t have to be good at it. That’s not the point,” Shiro said, picking up the needles. “It’s something that forces you to slow down. It’s pretty soothing. And you get something out of it at the end.” 

 

Keith looked dubiously at an attempt at a sock. 

 

“You can keep it, if you like,” Shiro said generously.

 

Keith’s face seemed vaguely panicked by the idea. 

 

Shiro laughed, taking a moment to appreciate the unexpected sight of Keith standing in his room.

 

He was, truthfully, a little surprised Keith had agreed to go to his room at all. It was an encouraging show of trust that hopefully also meant that Keith believed him when he said his intentions were pure. 

 

A very small part of him hoped that eventually Keith might just not mind if they weren’t. 

 

Shiro picked up the needles. the beginnings of his next project hanging from one like an aborted flag. 

 

“It’s not for everyone, but you can give it a try. I’ve done most of the hard parts on this one, so it’s just threading the needle through the stitches, now.” 

 

Keith sat down at the edge of Shiro’s bed warily, perched like a bird about to take flight. Shiro was glad he’d cleaned thoroughly-- twice. He was confident Keith wouldn’t find anything untoward shoved under the sheets. 

 

“You first,” Keith said. 

 

Shiro had thought he’d balk a little more- maybe walk out if he was feeling moody and dramatic. 

 

But instead, Keith watched him with earnest intent, cool violet eyes studying the way Shiro’s fingers moved precisely over the needles and yarn in rhythmic passes. The yarn slipped sometimes, or his fingers would knock together and a needle would slip, but the needles and yarn were thick enough that it didn’t require much delicacy. It was easy to get immersed in the gentle click of needles and the soft pull of the yarn on his fingertips. 

 

“Sometimes I don’t think you’re real,” Keith said quietly. 

 

Shiro kept the knitting steady. “Because of the knitting thing?” 

 

“No. Well, part of it is.” Keith leaned back on his arms on the bed. “You’re so nice it’s really kind of annoying. You fight like  _ that _ and you’re an ace pilot, but you’re so--  _ this _ .” He gestured at the yarn. “Every time I think I learn who you are, something new pops up.” Keith’s brows were furrowed.

 

Shiro hadn’t realized Keith had looked him up. He wondered when that was. What it meant. 

 

“You don’t like it?” 

 

“I don’t hate it.” Keith braced his hands on his knees. “But I don’t like feeling like I don’t know who you are.” 

 

“Would you like to know more?” Shiro asked, careful to keep his voice neutral. 

 

Keith leaned forward, the sheets pooling under him, hands clasped loosely between his thighs. “Yeah. I think so.” 

 

“What do you want to know?” 

 

“...I don’t know.” Keith’s gaze dropped. “I’ve never wanted to know about anyone else before,” Keith confessed slowly, looking at his hands.

 

Shiro’s stomach fluttered. “Let’s see,” he said with casual cheer. “My full name’s Takashi Shirogane. I’m Japanese, in case that didn’t tip you off,” he said with a teasing smile. “Before I enlisted, I lived with my grandparents, my aunt, and two baby cousins.” 

 

“Why do you call yourself ‘Shiro’, then?”

 

“Easier to say than ‘Takashi’- you won’t believe the things people have accidentally called me,” he said ruefully. “Most people think it sounds like a sneeze.” 

 

“Takashi,” Keith said, his voice clear but just a little breathy. It made Shiro stop. 

 

“That… was pretty good,” he managed, honestly surprised. 

 

“I used to live with a couple who were Japanese,” Keith explained. “That’s why my last name’s ‘Kogane’. They let me keep the name.” 

 

“You don’t live with them anymore?” 

 

“No. I was… returned. I enlisted after I graduated high school- wasn’t sure where else to go.” 

 

“Why were you... ‘returned’?” Shiro asked, watching the tightness in Keith’s shoulders. 

 

Keith’s shoulders fell. “I couldn’t get along with the other kids. I… might’ve hurt one of them.” 

 

“Was it on purpose?”

 

“No!” Keith said vehemently. “...It was an accident. But I didn’t know how to explain myself. Nobody believed me, anyway.” 

 

“I’m sorry it happened.” Because Keith hadn’t an ounce of that kind of guile. Didn’t seem to know the little ways other people learned to obfuscate. It was in the awkward pause he had between words. The way he looked away when he was unsure. The impulsive heat of his actions. The way he couldn’t seem to let untruths lie. 

 

“I believe you.”

 

Keith--- Keith looked painfully hopeful. It sat oddly on his face, lifting years from the furrow in his brow. Then he flushed and looked down. 

 

“Yeah, well, it’s old news.” 

 

Shiro smiled. This was familiar. Keith tucked his vulnerability behind sharp claws and an unfriendly glare. 

 

“So what else don’t you know about me?” He hummed. “I have a cat. She likes to shred my uniforms when I’m on leave.I volunteered a lot when I was a kid, before the Garrison. Sometimes I still get to help out. And I like baseball and tofu.” 

 

“Tofu?” 

 

“You can cook it all kinds of ways and it’s good for you.” 

 

“Can you cook?” Keith asked curiously. 

 

Shiro coughed. “Let’s talk about something else.” 

 

Keith looked  _ twice _ as interested now. 

 

“So you can't cook?”

 

“I'm a disaster in the kitchen,” Shiro sighed. “And I always forget to separate my laundry, so i get around it by not actually owning anything colored.”

 

Keith was hooked. “What else do you do badly?”

 

Shiro, having hoped to list more good points than bad, protested. “Why do you want to know them so badly?” He put the needles down on his lap, rueful. 

 

“Why not? I already know what you do well. Everybody does.” Keith lowered his gaze. “So if I'm not going to be like everybody else, then I should know.”

 

If he ever suspected Keith capable of manipulating someone, this would be very good evidence indeed, Shiro thought, dismayed. 

 

In short order, he was forced to admit that he could sing, but he couldn’t dance. That he had been a chubby kid before he’d started his workout plan. That he was pretty terrible at fighting and rhythm games. That he sometimes ate the pudding that had been left for his baby cousins and that he left the toilet seat down. 

 

Each terribly mundane item on the list seemed endlessly fascinating to Keith. 

 

“Why does it matter if it's up or down?”

 

Shiro shrugged. “It matters to my aunt, mostly. She pinches my ear whenever I forget.”

 

Keith laughed, legs tucking back beneath himself. “I can't imagine you getting a scolding. Or being terrible at anything.”

 

“I set off not just our smoke alarm, but three of our neighbors’ smoke alarms, too. That’s how bad I am at making a stupid can of campbell’s soup.” 

 

Shiro tilted his head a bit. “Can you cook?”

 

“If it's fast,” Keith said reluctantly. “Breakfast stuff. I can sort laundry, though.” 

 

“How about singing?” Shiro asked. Keith's voice had a husky quality to it that seemed like it could translate well into a croon. 

 

“Not really. I could sing you the anthem, but that's it.” 

 

“You should at least know  _ some _ other songs. Don’t you listen to anything?”

 

“I know how to play a few on a guitar,” Keith offered. “I don’t own one, though.” 

 

Shiro could see it. Keith, sitting in a corner or a bench somewhere, the roughened pads of his fingers on the taut strings. Maybe he didn’t sing, but did he hum? 

 

“...Something on my hands?” 

 

“Hm? I was just thinking you can see the callouses--” [he reached for Keith’s hand, cupping it in his palm so he could see them better](http://ringlov.tumblr.com/post/157122131131/i-know-how-to-play-a-few-on-a-guitar-keith). “Your fingers are hard, right at the places where they’d meet the strings.” 

 

The motion had been so easy that it took the soft hush for him to realize what he’d done. Keith’s hand was warm in his own, fitting so easily like it was only natural to be there. 

 

“Sorry.” Shiro let Keith’s hand go. Because this was dangerous. Too dangerous, alone in his room. He should have taken this out to the quad, maybe taught him how to meditate- he didn’t know if Keith would take well to sitting still, but maybe he could learn a kata. 

 

“It’s fine. It’s not like you’re wrong,” Keith said, misunderstanding. “But then, I guess you aren’t wrong a lot.” 

 

Shiro laughed at that. “The things I’ve done wrong could fill a lot more than this room. But I already told you too much today. Gotta keep some for next time.” 

 

They spent the time chatting more than knitting. Keith found some of Shiro’s books interesting, though he’d snorted at the noticeably dry selection until he found the hidden cache of adventure books in a shoebox under the bed. 

 

It wasn't until Keith left that Shiro realized he had taken the misshapen knitted sock with him.

 

===

 

Since knitting hadn’t really worked out- Keith was prone to getting more frustrated by the tangle of knots he made-- Shiro tried meditation. 

 

They were both sitting on the mats, cross-legged, palms cupping knees. Keith had his eyes closed, but Shiro as guide, was watching him. 

 

Keith was good at focusing, which came as no surprise, given Shiro had seen him bring the same single-minded drive to everything he did. It was something that he’d found fascinating, and not just a little bit captivating. There was something uniquely inspiring about watching someone wholeheartedly pursue what was set in front of them, unquestioning. 

 

He wondered what Keith would be like if he could just harness that. 

 

“Clear your mind,” Shiro said slowly, keeping his voice low. “Think about something, anything that calms you down. Maybe the sound of the sea or a favorite memory. Maybe something you always carry around with you. Count the spaces between your breaths. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.Eight. Hold. Two. Three. Four. Let it out.” 

 

Shiro had always found counting soothing, his own breaths slipping into the familiar rhythm. Across from him, Keith’s breathing evened out. All good.

 

“In,” he repeated, counting silently, this time. “Out.” 

 

Keith breathed with him, slowly. In and out. He watched the gentle rise of Keith’s shoulders, the way his face looked scrunched in concentration. 

 

Shiro stopped counting aloud, letting the world dim to a haziness as his thoughts turned inward. 

 

As always, surface thoughts drifted past. Silly things like how the seam of his pants was digging into his skin- so he adjusted it. The mild regret he had for choosing to take the tuna sandwich Matt had offered instead of getting his own lunch. The surge of fondness for the way Keith’s dark hair stuck out from the nape of his neck. 

 

Slowly, those thoughts faded, replaced by the count and his heartbeat. Shiro had always imagined himself in space, like this, floating among an endless expanse of stars. Here, very few things seemed to matter quite so much. The small discomforts and irritations of the day faded. 

 

He knew who he was. He knew what he wanted. He knew what he had to do to get it. 

 

It was all a matter of figuring out what was important and what he could do to protect that. Of making plans. Keeping his family safe was one. Getting back into space was another. His family was safe and he was doing well in his courses. If the application call came for any missions, he’d be ready. 

 

He thought about his daydreams. Of going out into the universe and bringing back something that could change mankind. About maybe finding a cure for cancer hidden in a planet’s moon or ushering in a new era of technological advances from a particular material. About being part of history and making things better all at once. About the touch of some undefined significant other by his side. 

 

Lately, that significant other was starting to take on some troublingly familiar features. He tried not to worry about it too much- it usually did, from time to time. But now was not the time for that particular five year plan.

 

With a soft exhale, he eased himself out of the meditation. 

 

“Keith?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

 

Keith’s shoulders were slumped and his head drooped. A soft snore purred out of his mouth.

 

He’d fallen asleep. 

 

Shiro reached out, amused, to wake him. He couldn’t go to sleep like that- his neck would regret it.

 

His hand met Keith’s slim shoulder, curving over it a bare moment. 

 

Keith’s eyes snapped open quickly at the first touch. 

 

“What--Shiro…” Keith sat back, rubbing at one eye with the heel of a palm. 

 

Shiro’s heart skipped, unprepared for the slow drag of that voice over his name, sleep-rough. 

 

He wanted to hear it every morning. But he could barely get Keith to call him ‘you’, most days. 

 

“...You should go to bed; get some real sleep,” he said, voice carefully even. “But not a bad first try at meditation.” 

 

Keith made a disgruntled noise and stood. “I’ve napped in worse places.” 

 

“But you don’t  _ have _ to,” Shiro reminded. 

 

The half-mutinous look he got for that made him wonder if Keith would, just to prove he could. 

 

Shiro held his gaze neutrally- and was pleased when Keith broke it first, picking up his backpack with a covered yawn. 

 

“See you,” he said, leaving with Shiro’s jacket still casually tossed over his shoulders. 

 

Shiro smiled and decided not to tell him. 

 

Despite Shiro trying to work on Keith’s temper with him, Keith seemed increasingly agitated whenever they met. Most of the time it meant he wanted to spar or lift weights- something to bleed the anger out. 

 

Shiro would let him have his head for a bit, then suggest they sit down and meditate or do something else when he’d bled most of the energy out. 

 

Sitting together seemed to work best. Maybe something about the enforced stillness helped Keith focus. 

 

Whatever it was, Keith still fell asleep. Shiro still woke him up with a touch. 

 

But it worked.

 

Besides, Shiro figured Keith could use all the sleep he could get. 

 

It was probably time to break up the routine a little, though. 

 

===

 

“Since you found out all my bad points I thought I should show you some of the stuff I'm actually good at,” Shiro said, upbeat, as he led Keith to the simulators.

 

There were a few other students already using the pods, a handful more spectating and cheering their classmates on. Keith lingered behind. Was he looking at them? The students were about average for their year level, decent. One flew a little better than the rest-- he recognized, with a small surge of pride, the blonde head that popped out of the simulator afterwards. 

 

“Martin. Your turns improved,” he complimented. 

 

Martin grinned broadly. “You were right about the timing- I never could get it down before.” 

 

Shiro smiled back.

 

“Are you doing a sim run today? You can take my spot, it’s been ages since we saw you fly a run. I’ll call the guys up- they won’t want to miss this,” he said excitedly. 

 

“And-- hey, is that Kogane?” Martin frowned. 

 

“Yeah, a class under you,” Shiro confirmed. He doubted  _ anyone _ in space track didn’t know who Keith was by now. 

 

Shiro looked behind- but Keith was closed off, arms folded. He’d realized Keith didn’t get along with his yearmates, but did he just not like people? It was certainly plausible. But Martin was a sweet kid, to Shiro’s knowledge, and few people didn’t get along with him. 

 

“Hey, you okay?” Shiro asked softly, touching Keith’s shoulder.

 

“Didn’t think there’d be this many people out.” Keith said tersely. 

 

That was fair. Shiro hadn’t either. 

 

“We can come back later,” Shiro suggested. He didn’t feel right about displacing a younger cadet from sim time, anyway. They needed the practice more than he did, to be frank.

 

In response, Keith turned his heel. “Much later.’ 

 

Shiro would’ve followed him, but Martin was suddenly there. “So you’ve been teaching him, too? Is that why he’s so good?” 

 

“I was hoping to,” Shiro said, with a small frown. 

 

“Ah. Well, don’t mind it, I hear he’s like that to everyone… Well more like he’s kinda violent?”

 

Shiro’s head snapped up. “ _ What? _ ” He certainly hadn’t heard that rumor before, but he’d been taking it easy on the rumor mill front. And Matt doubtless wouldn’t have filled him in even if he’d heard it. For a guy who had no love life, he was awfully fond of meddling in Shiro’s equally nonexistent one. 

 

Martin shrugged. “Everyone just says he’s bad news. They say he carries a knife. And you can see how angry he is, like, all the time. I don’t know why, myself, I mean, if I had his flight records, I’d be over the moon, you know?’ 

 

“That doesn’t sound right.” Shiro shook his head. Talent was a double-edged sword. And Keith had it in spades. What he didn’t have was the charm to smooth over the burrs. And jealousy run rampant was an awful thing.

 

“You keep working on those turns, Martin. Try missions 67- it’s got plenty of hairpin curves.” He clapped the cadet on the shoulder and went after Keith. 

 

It was almost nostalgic, really, how often he went looking for Keith. 

 

===

 

He found Keith in the gym, hitting the punching bag. “You’re doing that wrong, you know,” Shiro said mildly. 

 

“Shut up,” Keith huffed. He eyed Shiro. “Unless you’re planning to sub in?” 

 

“No thanks, my ribs need a break. Here, though,” he rummaged in his pack and found some bandages. “You’ll hurt your hands like that. Let me wrap them up.” 

 

Keith held his hand out, but he wouldn’t look at Shiro, either. 

 

Shiro wrapped Keith’s knuckles and crossed over to Keith’s surprisingly delicate wrist, hoping to give it a little more support. He knew Keith’s hands were capable of many things. Many painful things, even, but he really didn’t want to see Keith hurt any more than he absolutely had to. 

 

All things considered, though, he should probably be more worried for the punching bag. 

 

Keith made a fist and gave a test punch, arm snapping out. “...Feels weird.” 

 

“Safe, you mean. Anyway, I was thinking it might be good for you to learn other ways to slow down. Counting while doing a repetitive activity helps. I’ll count, you punch in time to it.”

 

He counted and Keith’s breathing evened out, easily, now, a practiced cadence. Maybe he should’ve thought about letting Keith punch things sooner.

 

“What did he tell you?” Keith asked, suddenly, water bottle clenched in both hands as they sat on the bench to cool down.  

 

“Nothing important,” Shiro replied. 

 

Somehow, that seemed to be the wrong thing to say. 

 

“I’ll bet.” Keith scowled, dripping scorn. 

 

“Martin’s not really a bad guy,” Shiro said, feeling obligated to defend him out of fairness. 

 

“You think so? When have you ever seen anything but what he wanted you to?” Keith asked pointedly. “I’m sure he comes over and wags his tail for everyone.” 

 

“Well, no, but I did tutor him a little. He’s pretty friendly with everyone.” Shiro frowned. “Did he do something to you? I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” 

 

Keith quieted. It was like seeing a lake freeze, flowers bloom in reverse. You could almost hear the air hitch, like a record scratch.

 

Keith got up from the bench and like so many weeks ago, walked away. The water bottle he tossed into Shiro’s lap with enough force to knock the breath out of his belly. “And you just know, do you?” 

 

And too late, Shiro realized his mistake. 

 

“Keith-- Keith, wait,” Shiro began, but Keith was already out. 

 

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Shiro said to the air.

 

===

 

Shiro hadn’t realized how much of his free time Keith had actually filled up until suddenly he was gone. He must have done things before Keith. Train. Run errands or help people on projects. Playing games on his phone or reading a good book. 

 

But slowly he’d cut corners, taking little pieces of time and rearranging them until he had Keith-shaped hole in his schedule.

 

Only now, there was no Keith. 

 

Keith was still posting amazing flight records and exam scores, so he was definitely still going to class, but it couldn’t be clearer that he was avoiding Shiro. He didn’t show up to the gym sessions, nor did he linger anywhere Shiro had learned to look for him. Just as easily as he had before, he’d disappeared. 

 

After months of hanging out together, it was-- strange. He hoped Keith cooled off soon. He hadn’t thought him the type to hold grudges. At least, not for this long. 

 

By the end of the weekend after the tiff, Shiro resolved to wait after one of the first years’ joint classes to see if he could catch him. 

 

At least, that was the plan. 

 

“Shiro, wait up, man, you gotta hear this!” 

 

“I’m kind of in a hurry, Matt, let’s hang later, yeah?” Shiro said distractedly, packing up his bag.

 

“No, you need to hear this  _ now _ ,” Matt said, and something in his voice brought Shiro up short. That wasn’t Matt’s usual playful tone, nor the one he used when he had something particularly juicy to share.

 

His face was unexpectedly grave in a way that made Shiro drop his bag back on the table. 

 

“It’s about Keith. He’s been suspended.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Ringlov did an _amazing_ artwork of one of the scenes in this chapter: [Go check it out!](http://ringlov.tumblr.com/post/157122131131/i-know-how-to-play-a-few-on-a-guitar-keith)
> 
> And I'll admit I'm also a bit distracted by a couple of other Sheith-y fics I can't help but write- it's pretty fun playing with the different potential dynamics for these two and I do miss a little bit of writing the rest of the Voltron ensemble. :'D 
> 
> Also: Season 2 confirmed for Jan 2017! Plenty of time for us all to finish our pre-Kerberos fics, sob. 
> 
> As always, please do leave me a comment if you'd like to say anything or talk about how Shiro and Keith!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking happens.

 

_ “It’s about Keith. He’s been suspended.” _

 

“Are you sure?” Shiro asked, hand fisted on the bag he’d dropped.  Around them, the rest of the class was emptying out of the room, unconcerned apart from a few farewells. 

 

“Dad said so, and you know he never forgets a name,” Matt said. 

 

Professor Holt had a mind like a steel trap, but it was hard to hang onto facts when it felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under him. “Why was he suspended? On what grounds?” 

 

“He sent another cadet to the infirmary…” Matt paused, hesitant. “There was something about a non-regulation knife…” 

 

“That-- that can’t be right. He’s never been--”Violent? That might not be strictly true. And he hated himself for that doubt, a little.

 

“Who made the call?” He said instead.

 

“Lt. Ryu.”

 

Shiro nodded slowly. The lieutenant was respected and fair. He was an engineering instructor, but he was also in charge of Garrison operations. He wouldn’t have suspended a cadet lightly.

 

“I’ll go ask. Did they kick Keith out or…” God, did Keith even have anywhere to go if they had? “When did this happen?”

 

“The suspension was just now-- around ten,” Matt said with a small frown as he fetched the information from his memory. “The fight happened late last night, from what I’m hearing.”

 

“Where’s Keith, now?” 

 

Matt fished his phone out from his pocket. “Hang on a sec, let me ask.” 

 

Shiro slung his bag over his shoulder, shifting uneasily as he waited for Matt to message his dad.

 

Guilt ate away at him. He’d known Keith was having trouble- those bruises, the open hostility-- but he’d thought it would all work out, that his yearmates would acknowledge his skill as nothing but well-earned and settle down. It was clear, now, that it hadn’t. But why now? What had pushed Keith to fight when he’d been doing so well channeling it to constructive things like training? 

 

And-- why had he brought a knife? Keith was impulsive, from time to time, restless with untapped action, but he was also scrupulously fair. As only someone who had too often experienced ‘unfair’ was. Too many things didn’t make sense. Didn't fit into the puzzle pieces Shiro had carefully found, building a picture of Keith in his mind. 

 

Maybe he was just a little bit blind. But he wanted to trust in the Keith he knew.

 

Matt’s phone chimed. “Right, so dad says they haven’t been released from the infirmary.”

 

“Keith’s in the infirmary?” Shiro asked, blinking. Keith had been a good fighter. Better than most first year cadets.

 

“Don’t ask me, go check up on him,” Matt said and whapped Shiro’s back. “Remember it’s the first strike, but it’s not an execution.” 

 

“Yeah- I’ll.. I’ll go.” Shiro thanked him with an answering tap on the back and started walking briskly- he had a lot of ground to cover. 

 

The infirmary was near the center of the campus, a large white building that also sometimes housed injured soldiers, but was mostly home to the bellyaches and scraped knuckles of overeager cadets. 

 

Much like the ones currently occupying the two folding chairs in front of the desk.

 

“---told you not to do it,” a worried-looking cadet was telling his friend, who was cradling his wrist in one hand. They both looked to be first years, though the first cadet was large for his age, nearly at Shiro’s own height and he looked like he wasn’t finished growing. His friend was shorter but thin, at that awkward gangly stage most teenaged boys went through where they shot up like weeds before the rest of them caught up.

 

“Have you  _ seen _ Nurse Em? Let me tell you she is  _ fi-ine, _ ” his friend whistled. 

 

“Excuse me?” Shiro asked, tapping lightly on the door. He looked around but didn’t see any nurses, nevermind Nurse Em, who was rather famous for being the subject of many a cadet fantasy. 

 

“Is there a Keith Kogane here?” Shiro asked politely, his breath a little short from the sprint here. 

 

“Y-wh-- it’s--” the second cadet spluttered. “Uh- you-- yes-- well, no.” 

 

Shiro frowned a bit, confused. 

 

“Keith was here, but he got discharged just a while ago-- one of the nurses escorted him back to his dorm,” the first cadet supplied. 

 

“Escort?” 

 

“Yeah-- oh, dude, he’s okay, but they said something happened last night.” 

 

“He’s probably faking,” cadet two groused. “Definitely digging for sympathy.” 

 

Cadet one nudged him a little bit and he quieted down. 

 

“Peter’s still here, though. Are they...are they in a lot of trouble?

 

Peter, Shiro realized, must be the other cadet. 

 

“A lot,” Shiro agreed distractedly as he took another look around the room. On the far left corner, one of the beds had been sectioned off with a curtain, the foot of the bed sticking out.

 

He wanted to see Keith- but it would be wise to see what the other party had to say. 

 

Sure enough, the clipboard at the foot of the bed proclaimed the patient to be Peter Sawyer, another first year cadet on the flight track, judging from his ID. 

 

“Cadet Sawyer? I’m Deputy Trainee Shirogane. I wanted to have a word?” 

 

There was a pause, then the curtain drew back, revealing a sullen and slightly tense teenager with mousy hair and a very large black eye. He also had a split lip and one arm was in a sling. 

 

“You’re Takashi Shirogane,” the cadet said. 

 

“I am,” Shiro confirmed. “It looks like you got in a rough fight.” 

 

Sawyer flushed angrily. “I would’ve won if he hadn’t pulled that fucking knife.” 

 

Shiro looked at him. The black eye was swollen and purpling magnificently. The arm looked to be taped for support, not lesions. He supposed it was possible a knife had caused the nick in the corner of the cadet’s mouth. 

 

“A knife gave you that black eye?” 

 

The boy’s expression soured. “A knife is what’s going to get him dishonorably  _ discharged _ . He isn’t authorized to carry arms and definitely not some weird pigsticker.” 

 

Shiro reminded himself that he was here for information. And not to make matching black eyes. “Can you tell me what happened?” 

 

“I was just talking to my friends in the hall last night when he went and attacked me,” Sawyer said. 

 

“Just like that? You didn’t even talk?” 

 

“No, of course not, we don’t talk to him. He’s always been a stuck-up little bi-” 

 

Shiro cleared his throat warningly. “Teacher’s pet,” Sawyer finished. “He never talks to anyone. He thinks he’s too good to even eat in the mess hall.” 

 

“I saw him getting food from the officer’s cafeteria, once,” the thin cadet from earlier piped up, coming over and still cradling his sprained wrist. 

 

Shiro frowned, wondering if he’d somehow made things worse. 

 

“What makes you think he isn’t just shy?” Shiro tried. 

 

There was a pause, then thin cadet started to guffaw. “ _ Him _ ? Shy? Uh, more like growly and fighty. It’s like the Grinch and Beast had a baby. Smells like it, too,” he sniffed. 

 

“He’s been that way since the first day we laid eyes on him,” Sawyer affirmed. “Hanging around the simulators like he could actually fly.” 

 

Shiro blinked. There was no way anyone in Keith’s year would’ve missed Keith’s entry into the flight program and the circumstances surrounding it. Of all the accusations he might’ve expected, not being able to fly would be the last. The only point in time when that would’ve been unproven was… “You mean you met him before he transferred to your class?” 

 

Sawyer turned pink and looked uncomfortable. “Well, yeah, I guess I saw him around. But he was ground- and he was always acting like he knew better than us even back then.”

 

“Did something happen back then?” 

 

“Not really,” the cadet said stubbornly. 

 

An unreliable narrator, Shiro remembered vaguely was someone whose account of events might not be the truth. A less charitable person might call them liars.

 

But Shiro didn’t have all the cards. Not yet. 

 

“Peter, you still alive in there?” A voice called cheerfully from the front of the infirmary. Shiro turned to see a quartet of cadets file in, most were unfamiliar, though he was vaguely familiar with second-year Ivan, the pale one near the front of the pack. But one other stood out, trailing behind.  

 

“Shiro,” Martin said, startled, upon seeing him. 

 

“Martin,” Shiro greeted. And something of what he felt must have shown in his face, because Martin ducked his head nervously, checking over his uniform to see if there was something to disapprove of.  

 

“Visiting?” 

 

“Oh, yeah, Pete’s laid up- he didn’t come back last night…” The rest of the pack of cadets were crowding around the bed. Sawyer had instantly brightened at their approach. The two cadets from earlier, in the meantime, had shrunk back almost warily. 

 

“So was I. He should be happy to see some friendly faces,though.”

 

Martin nodded. “You're headed out then? I'll see you later?”

 

“No,.. I think I'll be cancelling the next couple of sessions, sorry, something came up.”

 

Martin drooped a bit. “Too bad, I was going to ask something.” 

 

Shiro smiled faintly at that and nodded. “Next time.”

 

It was as good a time to make an exit as any. Shiro walked out of the infirmary, the sounds of boisterous cadets following him out. 

 

The news had spread while he’d lingered. People gossiped as they made their way to the next class. Shiro caught bits and pieces of speculation as he walked briskly towards the first year dormitories. 

 

“--heard he was”

 

“Right, put him in the infirmary…”

 

“A knife!”

 

“I always said--” 

 

He sped up, boots clicking. 

 

At the dormitories, he had to wheedle Keith’s room number from the Mr. Underwood, but fortunately he remembered Shiro from his own stint in the freshman dormitories. 

 

“Keith?” Shiro knocked, his knuckles a metallic rap against the door. “It’s Shiro. Can we talk?

 

Sllence. Did Keith really think he could pretend not to be there? From what he could gather from Mr.Underwood, Keith was basically allowed to stay on premises, albeit he wasn’t allowed to contact any of his instructors or take any classes. 

 

“Keith, I know you’re in there,” Shiro called. 

 

There was a long pause. Long enough that Shiro was wondering if he’d gotten it wrong, after all. Then, the door slid back with a soft unlocking hiss, revealing an exhausted Keith, paler than usual.

 

His knuckles were bandaged, one cheek puffed out in a colorful bruise. For the first time, he wasn’t in uniform. The cadet uniform and the gym clothes he wore were both standard issue from the Garrison. What he wore now was a plain, somewhat threadbare v-neck black shirt and a pair of loose, faded red shorts that he probably slept in. Keith’s dress had always been neat- shirt tucked, belt and boots polished- as it should be. Seeing him like this, it was strangely… vulnerable.

 

He stood in the entryway of the tiny closet-room that was allotted to first years- just big enough to fit a spindly bed, a dresser, and a desk. The bed had been made neatly to military standard, but the desk was crammed with books and papers. What looked like Keith’s bag had been slung on top of the dresser, partially open. 

 

“Can I come in?” Shiro asked gently.  

 

“Why are you here?” Keith answered, brows scrunching down in confusion.

 

“I wanted to talk to you.” 

 

Keith glanced behind him. Shiro could hear a couple of neighboring doors opening. 

 

“They already took my statement,” Keith said.

 

And that. That hurt. More than a bit. Like a fist closed around his throat. 

 

Like Keith didn’t think any of the past months was worth a private conversation. Like Shiro was any other Garrison officer. 

 

“Please,” Shiro said, instead. 

 

“What does it matter?” Keith said tiredly. “I’ve already had my sentence read. I’m suspended, there’s not much I can do but wait it out.” 

 

“I’ve talked to the other cadet in the infirmary,” Shiro began, watching Keith tense at that, unwilling to look him in the eye. “And I thought it didn’t sound like you.” 

 

Keith blinked at the floor. “Tell that to Iverson.”

 

“Maybe I will. Let me in?” 

 

“I’d really rather not.”

 

“I could stand here all day.” 

 

Keith frowned. “No you can’t.” He seemed to mean it very literally, too. 

 

Shiro could, if it came down to it. “Do you really want to test that?” 

 

Keith closed the door. 

 

“Keith!” Shiro said, exasperated. He tried knocking again. When that didn’t yield anything, Shiro sighed. 

 

“If you don’t let me in, I’m going to break the door down.” 

 

No response. 

 

This was going to take a bit of creativity. He didn’t mind standing around, but he wanted to talk to Keith more than he wanted to prove a point.

 

He backed up from the door, took a breath, and ran. 

 

THUD.

 

Shiro waited a minute. Five seconds past, the door suddenly opened. “Shiro-” Keith said, sounding panicked. 

 

Shiro beamed, his battered bag dangling a little off his shoulder, a strap knocked loose from being hurled into the steel door. 

 

Keith’s cheeks stained with color as he scowled. “I thought you’d knocked yourself out.” 

 

“Call it proof of my intention.” After all, Shiro wouldn’t be one of the Garrison’s best pilots if he gave up easily. 

 

He huffed a sigh and stepped back to let Shiro in. 

 

The room was so small that the bed barely fit them both, sitting, their knees touching. It was more intimate, somehow, then when Keith came to his room. Maybe it was because Keith was such a private person that every small step seemed like a leap. 

 

He suddenly wished he’d brought Keith something. Food, maybe. “Have you eaten yet?” 

 

“I ate at the infirmary, before the medicine.” Keith sat with his knees drawn up, his back against the wall. “So what did you want to talk about so badly?” 

 

“I thought I’d start by apologizing for last week,” Shiro said. 

 

“I don’t remember seeing you at all, last week.” 

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Keith’s indigo eyes lifted, briefly. “Yeah, I do.” For someone who had trouble picking up cues, Keith clearly had no problem with this one, no matter how much he might pretend otherwise. Shiro wondered if he’d thought about it nearly as often as he had. 

 

“I was stupid. I know it means a lot to you-- and you wouldn’t say anything if you didn’t feel that way. I… just wanted to say it’s not that I’d believe Martin or anyone over you. That’s not what I meant. And after today, I think you might be right.” 

 

Keith curled in a bit, unsure. Almost visibly, he chose the easier subject. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I ran into some cadets in your year while I was looking for you in the infirmary. I had a chat with Peter Sawyer, too.” 

 

Keith muttered something unfortunate.

 

“His story didn’t add up. And that got me thinking that yours would. What happened last night, Keith?” 

 

“...Everyone knows what happened last night. We got into a fight.” 

 

“Everyone heard about it. They don’t know. They weren’t there,” Shiro corrected gently. “Why did you fight? What was it about?” 

 

Keith looked uncomfortable. “Just… they were talking sh-- smack,” he corrected himself after a self-conscious glance at Shiro. 

 

“About their piloting skills?”

 

“About… about yours,” Keith said and buried his face in his knees. 

 

The tips of Keith’s ears were red. And Shiro wanted to touch them. “What do you mean?” 

 

“They said some things. It’s not the first time. But last night, they said… if I beat your scores then you couldn’t be anything special, either. And then they said some idiotic crap about...” He shook his head, unwilling to continue.

 

“Maybe I’m not. Special, that is,” Shiro clarified. He did what he could. That didn’t mean he was particularly talented, just well-disciplined enough to train. 

 

“You’re special,” Keith said bluntly, indignantly. “I watched your records. They showed it to us during lessons. When you fly, you think. You know where everything is, even if you can’t see it. You--- it feels like you belong in the sky. Like you own it. Just because they’re such shitty pilots they can’t see that doesn’t mean what they think is true. No matter how much they say it is.” 

 

“You’re.. Different,” Keith continued, more quietly, oblivious to the butterflies in Shiro’s stomach. “Still are,” he snorted, legs stretching out now. “Here you are, sitting in my room like you’re worried about me after I almost knifed a guy in the throat.” 

 

“I don’t think you did.” 

 

Keith scraped his hair back from his face with one hand, agitated. “I didn’t. But they took my knife, anyway.” 

 

“You really had a knife?” Shiro hadn’t been sure about that. 

 

“It’s… I don’t have a lot of things. But when they found me, they said I had that on me. They gave it back when I turned eighteen. And… I thought maybe it’d mean something, if I held onto it long enough. That was pretty stupid, huh? It’s just a knife. There’s nothing on it, not really, not a name or-- a reason. And in the end all it got me into was trouble. I don’t even really care about the suspension. I was just pissed they took it.” 

 

“You shouldn’t feel stupid about caring. That just means you’re living.” Shiro reached for him, hoping, praying he was doing this right. Because somewhere between the space of Keith’s shoulders was a weight that threatened to buckle them. And he’d let him down once already.

 

His arms curled around Keith the way he’d wanted them to since they’d first met. And in his arms, Keith felt-- perfect and just a little small. He smelled like the infirmary- like antiseptic soap and clean linen. His skin ran hot, like the spark in his eyes when he was roused. 

 

Keith was tense enough that Shiro was afraid he’d gotten it wrong, after all. 

 

Then, slowly, he pressed his face into Shiro’s chest, awkward. Shiro hugged him tighter, until the tension slowly bled out of his spine. “Caring sucks.” 

 

Shiro smiled, just a bit. “Yeah, but nobody would get anywhere without it.” 

 

“I’m not sorry,” Keith said suddenly. “That I hit them.” 

 

Shiro paused at that. “You said, a while back, that this wasn’t the first time- were they… harassing you, before?”

 

Keith frowned, chin tucked. “It was more like they were just so stupid I had to call them out on it-- but there’s enough of them that they make trouble if they don’t like you. It’s been that way since-” 

 

“Since?” Shiro prompted. 

 

“Since they dared me to get on the simulators,” Keith sighed. “It was the blonde one. Yvan. He was talking big about his scores and I told him he was nowhere near the record top. He told me to get in and do better. So I did.” 

 

_ “Satisfied.” _ That had been Keith’s voice, now a familiar hoarse scrape. Shiro remembered. 

 

“That’s-- but you were ground forces. You wouldn’t have had any training. That’s…” 

 

“Not exactly.” Keith looked a bit uncomfortable. “Before I enlisted, there were… some people around the neighborhood who did hover-racing.” His eyes darted up, gauging Shiro’s reaction.

 

Shiro was familiar with it. Drag racing on streets or cliffside dirt trails with hoverbikes was illegal, but it had a fair amount of enthusiasts. A hoverbike couldn’t quite fly, as the name implied, but a foot or two off the ground was certainly enough to do dangerous stunts like leaps and flips, often while running along obstacles like loops or slides. it would explain Keith’s reflexes and natural sense for weaving. 

 

“You used to race?” 

 

“It was fun and they paid me to do it.” 

 

Of course. If the bike was unregistered, as the ones used often were, the driver would be the one risking life and jailtime, even if they had to be caught riding or in possession to be arrested.

 

“When did you start?”

 

“Around when I was fifteen.” 

 

He’d have been  _ tiny  _ on one of the souped up hoverbike monsters they used for racing. 

 

He’d have had to sneak out to do it, too… well that would explain why he was so good at escaping, too, Shiro supposed. 

 

It was a lot to take in, somehow. He’d expected to get to the bottom of the suspension. And he had. He just hadn’t imagined it had all been related, all this time. 

 

“Thanks for telling me,” he said, into the silence. “I know it’s… well, it’s probably new for you,” he smiled a bit. 

 

Keith’s eyes softened, just a bit. “Yeah, well. I figured if anyone was going to know the whole story. It might as well be you. You’re the only one who asked.” 

 

And that was. That was the problem, wasn’t it? For everything that Keith had gone through. Even when Shiro stopped asking. Shiro’s heart squeezed. 

 

“Tell me more about the knife- what happened exactly?” 

 

“We were fighting with our fists and it fell out of my bag when I got sucker-punched by one of his friends.” He touched his bruised cheek almost unconsciously. 

 

“One of them took it and told the officer who found us that I’d used it to attack them. People have seen it before- it’s wrapped in some old bandages.” 

 

Shiro nodded slowly. “I did think it was weird they got all bruised up by a knife.” 

 

Keith snorted. “I didn’t need one to fight  _ him _ .” 

 

Shiro didn’t doubt it. 

 

He wondered if this would’ve happened if he’d been a little more careful with his words, that day he’d fought with Keith. If it would’ve happened if he’d done something besides notice the things Keith never said, trusting him to tell him when the time was right.

 

Only to realize that Keith never would’ve, before now. Because Keith had never learned to tell anyone about his problems. 

 

He gave Keith a gentle squeeze, unsure if it was reassurance or apology. 

 

=

 

The Garrison Director had an office at the very end of the faculty lounge. From fourteen hundred hours to sixteen hundred on Tuesdays, he was usually in it and kept his door open for concerns from faculty or staff. Occasionally, he’d also accept guests and students. There wasn’t actually any rule against it, only a deep-seated and healthy fear of the director kept most at bay. 

 

Shiro walked up to his office and rapped politely. 

 

“Come in.”

 

“Deputy Trainee Takashi Shirogane, 4AF76, sir. I wanted to talk to you about a suspension.” 

 

Iverson was seated at his desk, his tablet on the desk showing a running feed of information. 

 

“Shirogane,” the man acknowledged, sharp gaze following Shiro’s walk. “By suspension, I take it you’re referring to last night.” 

 

“Cadet Kogane,” Shiro admitted. 

 

Iverson’s frown deepened the lines around his mouth like worn grooves. “We were willing to overlook the incident with the simulators since it brought his skillset to our attention, but the Garrison will not tolerate unauthorized and reckless violence. Especially with unsanctioned weaponry.” 

 

“When I visited Cadet Sawyer, he didn’t sport any injuries that would’ve been made by a knife.”

 

“We have witness reports stating that the knife wasn’t used. It and his flight records are the only reasons Cadet Kogane remains in the Garrison,” Iverson grunted. “So what are you trying to appeal?” 

 

“The possibility that the witness was lying. They are known friends of Cadet Sawyer and I recently received information that they were also involved in the incident with the simulators.” He offered a data chip and placed it on the table. “I went over the simulator logs from that night. We also had logs around the time confirmed in Cadet Kogane’s testimony from Cadet Sawyer and his witnesses.” 

 

“I also received testimony that he was provoked and the knife fell out of his bag but wasn’t intended to be used.” 

 

“Kogane’s testimony,” the director repeated. “You realize it’s his word against theirs.” 

 

“And mine,” Shiro said. “I believe Cadet Kogane’s version of events to be true.”

 

Iverson’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t a witness or party to the incident.” 

 

“A character witness,” Shiro insisted. Someone had to. “I’ve observed Kogane for several weeks. He’s not a glory-seeker or particularly violent. He’s rarely seen with his yearmates and tends to not engage with them.” 

 

Iverson considered him, leaning back in his chair with his fingers laced. “Even if what you say is true, the knife is still contraband.”

 

“It’s a sentimental item. From his family,” Shiro said. “It’s the only memento of theirs he has. 

 

“Convenient,” Iverson harrumphed. “The suspension holds,” he said sternly, making Shiro’s stomach drop. “But I’ll consider reopening the investigation into Sawyer to see if he will receive a similar punishment.” 

 

Shiro brightened. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so damned hopeful that the trip hadn’t been in vain.

 

Iverson leaned forward, grim. “It’s only because of your own exceptional record that we’d consider this. Be careful with the trust you’re given, Deputy Trainee Shirogane. Dismissed.” 

 

Suppressing a small shiver, Shiro saluted and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

He let out a breath as he walked back through the lounge. He hadn’t expected it would be easy, but he’d had to try. That he’d brought attention to his own interests, and possibly his relationship to Keith, was a point against him already. But he’d never asked for any special consideration from the Garrison before now. 

 

If he could use what he had and help Keith in some way, it would be worth it. 

 

He looked down at his hands. It was true that he couldn’t do much about the Garrison or its rules. But there were still ways he could help. He’d been patient for too long. 

 

And he didn’t want to be a good man who did nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally a Hunk/Lance cameo!
> 
> This is very late but life happened. If it's any consolation, though, this is easily the longest chapter yet. :') 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think! If there's anything you want to see in the last chapter, now's a good time to say it. c:


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things must come from an ending. Keith and Shiro talk things out and some.

“You’ve never--?” Keith asked, pulling a strap tighter.

 

“It’ll be my first time,” Shiro said, with a hint of amusement. “I might be a little stiff so take it easy on me.”

 

“I can’t believe a guy with your experience,” Keith began, “never rode a hoverbike before.”

 

Shiro glanced down at the gleaming yellow and black hovercraft they were on. It was a friend’s bike, but Go Go had owed him a favor or two and he kind of thought she and Keith would get along.

 

“More accidents happen on a hoverbike than nearly any other vehicle known to man,” he said. And his grandparents had thoroughly disapproved. Sleek and fast, the bikes tended to attract a certain kind of person. The kind, he was made to understand, he should have no business knowing.

 

Out here, though, there weren’t a lot of things to hit. The sun had just begun to sink, a spectacular firebird in a slow-motion nosedive into the horizon. Sand glimmered in hot stretches but the forecast promised a cool desert night with clear skies

 

“I didn’t think you’d be scared of a little z-friction enabled speed,” Keith chuckled. “Especially since you suggested this.”

 

“I figured you deserved it,” Shiro said.

 

It was the fifth day of Keith’s suspension and he’d predictably started getting cabin fever from being confined to his room. Shiro had done his best to keep him from feeling the isolation, but there was only so much the both of them could do in a nine by five cubicle of a room. At least, that they could do as friends.

 

Armed with good intentions and alarm over his straying thoughts, Shiro had checked to see if Keith could go outdoors. As it turned out, Keith wasn’t suspended from anything but classes and all attached credits. Given he was now the crazy knife-guy, however, it was more prudent to not be seen.

 

“Or an apology,” Shiro tacked on.

 

“For what?” Keith looked puzzled as he mounted the bike.

 

“Because I couldn’t find enough evidence,” Shiro clarified.

 

The investigation into the incident was still ongoing, slow and inconclusive without further evidence. He wished he could do more for that, but then he was compromised, as the Director and a well-meaning instructors had pointed out, the last time he’d checked.

 

Keith shrugged. “It’s not your fault. Even if it was kind of about you,” he admitted. “It was just a matter of time. And I… It’s not so bad. Just having you around is a lot better than this could’ve been.”

 

Shiro wondered, sometimes, if Keith knew how often his straightforward bluntness made Shiro’s heart stutter. After his suspension, Keith had stopped being quite so careful with what he didn’t say. If this kept up, Shiro wasn’t sure if he’d pass the physical exams for Kerberos.

 

He sat behind Keith on the bike, Keith’s hips framed in the v of his own thighs. In the cramped seat and having him so close made it hard to resist the impulse to hug him.

 

If anyone needed more hugs, Keith certainly did.

 

“Shiro? Hold onto my waist,” Keith said.

 

Shiro wrapped an arm around his middle, prompting Keith to push it  further down. “Not like that, chest to my back, you’ll need to lean with me and it’ll be easier if we share a central mass.”

 

Suggesting this ride was turning out to be a better idea than he’d thought.

 

He spooned Keith agreeably, their helmets clacking together.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Ready.”

 

Keith turned the ignition, a vintage mod on an otherwise cutting edge machine, and the hoverbike rose into the air, engines thrumming. The laser light inset into the rims brightened, then, Keith took off, propelling them forward into the desert between the Garrison and its borders.

 

He could feel Keith’s excitement as he sped forward, finding small boulders to test the bike’s repulsion on. When his body shifted, Shiro could feel it instantly and he mimicked it. It was startlingly intimate. Instinct into thought into response. Almost like sex. With the vibration of the engine between their legs, he couldn’t say it was exactly unlike it.

 

Keith drove them to the fence that ran along the Garrison’s perimeter, the criss-cross shadow of the wire fencing cutting the ground before them into crosshatch patches.

 

He handled the bike, unsurprisingly, like he flew. Like he’d been born to do it. He’d never met anyone who loved to move as much; who moved like Keith did.

 

“You’ve got a good feel,” Keith said as they slowed down a bit.

 

“What?” Shiro asked, startled.

 

“Your instincts,” Keith said quickly, the tips of his ears flushing dark. “They’re good. For this.”

 

It was the heat of him and the quiet desert air that made Shiro say what he did next. “Or maybe I had the right partner. I always kind of thought meeting you was fate.”

 

“Fate?”

 

“Sure. Like how you were always going to be a pilot.” Because Keith was wasted in anything else. “Like how I was always going to meet you.”

 

“...More like you hunted me down.”

 

“Sometimes fate needs a little help,” Shiro said, laughing.

 

“How do you know it did? Maybe it was a mistake.”

 

“Couldn’t be.”

 

“But how do you know?” Keith pressed.

 

“Because I could never regret meeting you.”

 

“O-oh.” Keith breathed, the hoverbike stuttering over a rock.

 

Shiro gave him an out. “Hey, watch it, we’ve got precious goods back here.”

 

“I’ll be careful,” Keith said with utter seriousness.

 

“That’s--” Shiro began, but then he saw the long, empty supply transport cab up ahead, it’s side sloped perfectly, and the way the bike skimmed, speeding up.

 

“Keith!”

 

“Trust me!” Keith yelled back, and his grin was so bright, so exhilarated, that Shiro forgot he was scared; struck breathless long before the inevitable drop came.

 

They shot up the side of the cab, turning in mid-air to run along the length of it, before jumping off in a spectacular arc at the end of its tail. Wind blew past Shiro’s ears, the ground leaping out towards them as Keith opened the throttle and directed it down, making them bounce against it just enough to keep themselves upright.

 

He spun a long curve, dragging the leftover speed until they were back to racing along the road.

 

“All there?”

 

"Think I left my senses back at the ramp.”

 

Keith glanced back. “Pretty sure you have some to spare.”

 

They came to the outskirts of the engineering bay and stopped at the loop, for a moment, looking out at the shuttle being built for the Kerberos mission. It was getting big enough to be partially visible from some of the grounds, but the view from here was unobstructed.

 

“That’s my ride,” Shiro said, only half-joking. His application had been shortlisted just yesterday. Keith hadn’t exactly been surprised. Neither had been Matt, who was on the engineering shortlist.

 

The cockpit was just large enough for a three man crew but sometimes Shiro daydreamed about asking Keith to come with him. Shiro was hardly the only pilot thinking about getting the seat in the Kerberos mission, though. Most watched the shuttle’s construction progress with thinly veiled excitement. To go farther than any other astronaut had before, right to the edge of the solar system--who wouldn't want to be part of history?

 

Keith only frowned.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing… I guess.” He shook his head. “I guess… sometimes i just feel weird about things.”

 

“Weird how?”

 

“I don’t know-- just.. Sometimes I get this feeling, I can’t explain. Like the Garrison felt ‘right’. And this desert feels like it’s ‘waiting’. That shuttle… it feels… weird. I don’t know why.”

 

“Well, does this make you feel weird?” Shiro asked and gently ran his fingers up Keith’s sides.

 

Keith choked on a laugh. “Shiro!”

 

Shiro laughed at his half-startled expression. Discovering Keith _could_ laugh was perhaps the best part of the past few days. His face lit up, so completely filled with unrestrained, child-like sincerity. It was hopelessly adorable.

 

He just wished Keith had more to laugh about.

 

Keith slapped him away and Shiro relented.

 

He got off the bike properly, stretching while Keith caught his breath. “It’s probably always going to be a little weird. That ship’s meant for big things. Life-changing things. Can you imagine? We’ll be at the front porch of the solar system- we’ll be able to look out into the galaxy with our own eyes.”

 

Keith was quiet. “I wish I could see things like you.”

 

“You can apply for the next one. Both of us. We’ll go and see space together.”

 

“That’s not what I mean,” Keith clarified, though he smiled, just a bit. He leaned against the hoverbike’s handlebars,arms crossed. “You see things differently. Maybe it’s because you know where you’re going. I don’t have that- dreams or ambition. All my life nobody ever thought I’d amount to much. It’s hard to, when you don’t have much to stand on. So I focused on what was in front of me.”

 

He swung his leg over and got off the bike. “I guess I thought if I went fast enough, I’d get to somewhere I wanted to be.”

 

Shiro got off the bike carefully, stretching. “How about now?”

 

Keith glanced at him, sidelong. “Now… now is good. Even though I’m suspended. And I think it’s your fault.”

 

“My ‘fault’?”Shiro’s brows shot up playfully. “So you want that apology now? I’m sure i can think up of something.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes at him. “You know what I mean. I-- I didn’t think I could be happy, like this.”

 

Shiro paused, unsure what to do with the strange cocktail of gratification and guilt that now curdled in his belly. But he didn’t want to ruin the moment with something like that.

 

“Since we’re stopping here, I’ve got something for you.”

 

He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a small package bundled in a dusty red knitted scarf.

 

“Here,” Shiro said, handing it to Keith.

 

“What’s this?” Keith asked, confused as he started to unwrap it.

 

He stared as the cloth fell apart to reveal the dull metal of his dagger. “It’s… how did you get it back?” Keith wanted to know, incredulous.

 

“The lieutenant still had it,” Shiro explained. “We had a few long talks and he had to dull the edge, but he agreed to let you have it back.”

 

Keith ran two slender fingers over the flat of the blade, then set it aside carefully, and launched himself into Shiro’s arms. “I- Thank you.”

 

Shiro caught him, his weight sending them both stumbling even as he hugged him back, face warm. “I promised I’d get it back. I keep promises.”

 

Keith’s fingers curled in Shiro’s jacket.  “I know. I… should’ve believed in you more.”

 

“We’ll work on it,” Shiro said. “The world’s not always an ugly place. And you’re not alone anymore. I’m here for you. You’ll meet people like me who you’ll believe in, too.”

 

“I don’t think they’ll be like you,” Keith said, breath a harsh exhale of wind.

 

“Well there’s only one of me,” Shiro agreed, smiling. “But you already have me in your corner.”

 

“The rest you’ll find out on your own.”

 

=

 

“I don’t know if I’m allowed back here,” Keith said uncomfortably as they walked into the flight training deck.

 

Shiro couldn’t exactly blame him for being a little wary.

 

So much had happened that the simulators were almost like a loaded question. And Shiro had picked precisely the time a lot of people would be around, a mixed group of cadets and officers. Keith had never been entirely comfortable with crowds, but for their, or rather, Shiro’s purposes, it was necessary.  

 

He could see Matt off to the side, flashing him a thumbs up. He’d been the one to chart the statistical likelihood they’d get this many people around. Besides, after this long, it only felt right to introduce Keith to the Holts. And Matt wouldn’t wait any longer than this.  

 

They walked up to him as they talked.

 

“It’s fine, your suspension’s over and you could use a little practice on something that’s not going to turn over in a stiff wind.”

 

“I don’t know why you think hoverbikes are so dangerous. You’re going to get launched into space in a tin can.”

 

“A very advanced tin can,” Shiro said. “With seatbelts.”

 

“Aw look at you two, so cute,” Matt chirped. “You’ve barely known eachother half a year but you’re already so married.”

 

He extended a hand to Keith. “Matt Holt, I’m Shiro’s more-attractive podmate and I should totally be the best man at your wedding.”

 

“Yeah, why’s that?” Shiro asked, humoring him as Keith floundered, clearly not used to talking to someone so full of energy. Or being talked at, more accurately.

 

“Because if it wasn’t for my exemplar data gathering, you wouldn’t have hunted him down.”

 

“You thought I was crazy,” Shiro reminded. “But funny.”

 

“Only a little bit. Don’t be like that, I helped you pick out your date clothes! Did he wear the shorts?” He turned to Keith confidentially. “If anyone in our athletics course thought they were completely straight, those shorts ruined it.”

 

Keith broke out in a startled laugh. “I thought he threw them away. He never wore them again.”

 

Shiro cupped the back of his neck. “Can we focus, here?”

 

Matt saluted. “Sure, captain, I held your slot on the simulators- T5 and 6. Better get in quick, though.”

 

“Thanks, Matt,” Shiro said, leading Keith to the simulators. People had noticed their arrival and were peering curiously.

 

“You haven’t been in here except for class, right? What mission did you get up to?”

 

“Forty-two,” Keith said, climbing into the one on his side

 

“I think you’re ready for mission fifty,” Shiro said, bringing the entry up and using his keycode to unlock it.

 

“What’s mission fifty?”

 

“You’ll see,” Shiro said and closed the simulator door.

 

Mission fifty was a joint mission with parallel objectives. It’d test the pilots’ coordination with each other as well as their own individual skill in completing their set of objectives. It required a certain amount of trust in the other pilot, as some of the tasks were dependent on the other’s objectives being met.

 

Flying with Keith, even in the confines of a virtual reality, was effortless. Objectively, they were two of the best pilots in the Garrison right now and each task completed smoothly like clockwork. Towards the middle, Keith started to anticipate Shiro’s movements, helping make the exchange of loads and route clearing more efficient.

 

They logged a total time of 28 minutes- twenty seconds short of the record set by a pair of twins.

 

But more importantly, people had noticed them and they’d seen the feed from their simulators. He could spot a blonde head among them, but Martin was with some cadets form his year, this time, not the pack he'd seen him with at the infirmary. He didn't approach, which was probably for the best.

 

What mattered was that if anyone doubted that Keith was both a great pilot and able to work with others, maybe they’d think twice now.

 

When they got out, Matt waved a memory chip. “Got it recorded.”

 

“That’s great, thanks,” Shiro smiled, pocketing the chip.  

 

People were talking- and it wasn’t all bad that he could tell. There were thoughtful looks in a crowd of vague confusion.

 

It was the first step, and an important one.

 

He stepped closer to Keith, slinging an arm around his shoulders casually. Keith looked up, the line of his shoulders relaxing.

 

Nobody approached them, which was a small surprise. He wondered how much of that was how wary they were of Keith. A few were frowning.

 

Keith ducked out of Shiro’s hold, at that, almost casual. “Our slot’s up, so I’m going to go over my backlog.”

 

“I’ll come with you. Library, right?” Shiro prompted.

 

“And I’ve got a date. Nice meeting you, Keith. Later, Shiro.” He clapped Shiro’s arm and walked off. A few people broke off, presumably to question him.

 

Shiro found himself standing in a small circle of space with Keith. He pretended not to notice.

 

“Shall we?”

 

It was a quiet walk back out, eyes following them ,not always silently.

 

“Knew we shouldn’t have gone in there,” Keith muttered once they were clear. He looked unhappy. “You shouldn’t stick like that to me, either. People talk.”

 

“People talk a lot, no matter what we do. You just kind of let it slide off.”

 

“It’s not about what they say about me. I just don’t want them thinking what those-- jerks said about you is true,” Keith said, substituting the word he’d been about to use.

 

They turned into a white-walled corridor, Shiro's hand a light touch at Keith’s back to remind him. “It doesn’t matter. Results do. The Garrison’s a meritocracy. If you keep doing well, you’re going to be promoted soon enough, and your records will show you’re good enough to be.”

 

“This?” Shiro said, tapping the chip in his pocket. “Is proof we’re flying together someday. I never did that course so quickly with anyone else.”

 

Keith shook his head. “It wasn’t that hard.”

 

“It requires good reflexes and quick thinking,” Shiro said. “And not everyone has as much of that as you do.”

 

Keith was quiet as they walked into the library, beeping through with their IDs and letting the doors shut behind them. “You remember when I asked why you kept looking for me?” Keith asked.

 

“You asked me a lot of things.”

 

“But are you going to tell me the truth?”

 

Shiro looked over at him, thinking. “...It was true. If I had to be stuck in space with anyone, I’d want it to be you.”

 

“Depends on how long it’ll be,” Keith pointed out.

 

“I wouldn’t mind how long it was. Even if it was forever.”

 

“Even if it’s forever?” Keith asked, startled.

 

“Even if it’s forever,” Shiro said.

 

Keith fell silent. “I guess that means I have to get to where you are.”

 

“You can do it. I believe in you. And I’ll be waiting.”

 

They scoped out a reasonably clean sofa, less mangled by decades of rambunctious students, pulling the low table closer so they could work on it.

 

Keith sat down next to him, close, an unconscious mimicry of days in a cramped room. His side was warm, pressed against his, and it made him want to curl an arm around him. So he did.

 

They’d come a long way from when they’d first met in that courtyard. From when he’d first seen Keith, isolated by choice with his barrier of thorns.

 

Someday, he hoped to introduce Keith to his cat. It’d mean going home, of course. At the end of the year, maybe. Together.

 

And thinking about it, Shiro couldn’t help but feel a gentle swell of excitement.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's dooone! :')
> 
> I thought about it a lot and I decided to keep this open-ended. It's pre-Kerberos. A beginning. This was a fluff fic, but also me trying to explore what a relationship between them could've started out as. At this point, Keith has just opened up to Shiro, figuring out how to relate to people and one person in particular. As their friendship and bond deepens, I imagine Shiro thinks about confessing properly, but Kerberos happens. Voltron happens. And Shiro becomes a version of himself he's no longer comfortable with. 
> 
> S2 Is just a little over a month away, so I'm thinking no canon AUs until then. I'm looking forward to it!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment, I need the inspiration! :'D 
> 
> You can also find my other Voltron/Sheith things at: [TUMBLR](https://pepperpaprika.tumblr.com)


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